


A Cinderella Moment

by Kaye_Fraser



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Baking, CEO Derek Hale, College Student Stiles Stilinski, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Mentioned Kate Argent, Mistaken Identity, POV Stiles Stilinski, Sterek Bingo 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaye_Fraser/pseuds/Kaye_Fraser
Summary: Stiles wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary with his summer job at a boutique bakery.  But a case of mistaken identity during a routine delivery suddenly lands him in a fake relationship with one of the most eligible bachelors in the country.  What's a regular, starving college student to do?Created for Sterek Bingo 2020
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura
Comments: 44
Kudos: 316
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,
> 
> A story created belatedly for Sterek Bingo 2020. Let's see how far I can get and how many themes I can hit before it ends ... in 3 days.
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> K.

Damn it, he’d goofed. Stiles let out a resigned breath as he looked up at the wrought-iron gate and intricate stone façade of the Four Seasons. This seemed like the right place, given the stream of luxury vehicles inching along in front of him, but he heavily suspected that he was queued up at the wrong entrance. When he caught sight of the uniformed valets rushing about several cars in front of him, he definitely knew he was at the wrong entrance.

Fancy people in their fancy cars with their fancy functions in their fancy hotels, he sighed inwardly. There were stanchions separating him from the next lane, so he couldn’t easily maneuver the bakery van out of line. Slumping slightly with resignation, he waited it out, and smiled apologetically at the valet who walked up to him when he’d moved up in the procession of cars. He mimed his best impression of ‘I turned too early and I’m looping around back!’ as the other man neared. The valet, who looked to be about the same age as Stiles and an expert at interpreting overexaggerated gestures (or more likely, the guy was simply just literate and could read the bakery name on his van), nodded his understanding and waved him through.

Returning his own wave of thanks, Stiles pulled out of the guest entrance and looped back around Wilshire onto El Camino. This time, he found the service lane and turned in with a relieved huff. At least he’d left for the delivery early, so the lost time hadn’t made him late. He’d been doing this summer job at the bakery for just over a month, and messing up so soon wouldn’t have made a very good impression. 

He parked behind a couple of other delivery vehicles, and pulled the key out of the ignition. Whatever event was going on tonight, they’d really gone all out. From what he could see, there was an orchestral equipment and a florist van unloading ahead of him, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the ‘Ice Dreams’ logo he’d also glimpsed up front specialized in ice sculptures. He was going to be jostling for space as he brought in the pastries and cakes. Mentally steeling himself for the task, he grabbed the purchase order he’d tossed onto the passenger seat earlier, and went around back to transfer the goods. Being still new at Whimsical, a little boutique bakery located out of Pasadena, he didn’t want to mess this up. It had been difficult finding a job to begin with, but more importantly, he needed the money, especially with his growing tuition debt and his on-going quest to not burden his already overworked dad. 

The smell of sugar and butter and everything glorious wafted over him as he opened the van’s rear door. He inhaled, and smiled appreciatively. Yup, money was good, but he had to admit – and without shame – that getting first dibs to the day’s leftover products was a bonus too. An abandoned trolley sat against the building a few feet behind him, which he gratefully grabbed. Hooray for other working grunts like him who couldn’t be bothered to return hotel equipment to their proper places! Having something to carry all the different trays would save him multiple trips.

Working carefully – because all he needed was for his uncoordinated self to drop several grand worth of sugar, meringue, and fondant work – he managed to load everything onto the purloined trolley, and make his way into the service entrance. A quick chat with some hotel staff led him to the main ballroom through a winding maze of back corridors, but when he entered the main venue, his trolley leading the way, he had to pause a moment in wonder.

He could understand why the event planner had gotten Whimsical to make the desserts instead of the in-house catering staff. From the rose-covered trellises to the oversized flora to fantastical signposts to colourful centerpieces, streamers of every shade billowed out from the crystal chandeliers, creating the illusion being in the underside of oversized mushrooms, while fairy lights twinkled behind the decorative forest silhouette that lined the walls, an enchanting contrast against the dimness of the entire room.

Stiles felt like he’d walked into a wonderland. No, literally, he’d walked into Wonderland. The theme of the event obviously had something to do with Alice in Wonderland, and Whimsical’s specialty was … well, whimsical creations. Molly, the owner and baker, made a mean pastry, but was also quite well-known for her fantastical desserts and kooky designs. Stiles should know. Mouth agape and drooling, he’d watched her put together the most gravity-defying cake just yesterday. Seriously, it was like watching a cooking channel show live, without the commercials and with all the three-dimensional sugar porn. 

“You must be the dessert.”

Stiles swallowed his awe, and re-focused on the woman in front of him. Her attention was already on her clipboard, scanning it for just a second before she pointed her pen toward the far corner to the right of the raised stage.

“You can set up over there,” she instructed as she readjusted her trendy cats-eye glasses. “Just find me or one of my assistants to sign off when you’re done.”

Stiles nodded. Never waste the time of a woman with a clipboard and a pencil skirt. “Yes, ma’am.”

Marching orders received, he pushed the trolley over to his assigned area, and gave the staff setting up the chaffing dishes a table over a small smile and a quick greeting. He could hear the muffled voices of the arriving guests milling outside the ballroom, likely mingling and drinking, so he probably had a decent block of time to set up. He smoothed out the trippy, polka-dot tablecloth and started laying out his spread. Luckily, there weren’t any layered cakes involved, just fantastically designed petit fours, eclairs, and tarts, so the task didn’t require too much manual dexterity. Molly had gone over the setup with him before he’d left the bakery, and if there was one selling point he did possess, it was his memory. When everything was arranged into a pleasing palette of multi-colored yumminess, he did one last run-through of the purchase order.

Everything looked good except … Crap, he was missing a dozen tarts. And the pretty strawberry ones too. He knew Molly had checked the order before loading it, so it must still be in the van. Rolling his eyes at the oversight, he hurried back to the van with the now-empty cart, dodging several just-as-busy bodies along the service corridor along the way. He slid the trolley back where he’d found it beside the building, and quickly rummaged through the back of the vehicle for the missed tarts. The small white box sat innocently enough on the left side of the van’s spacious trunk.

He narrowed his eyes and huffed, swearing the box must’ve hidden itself away when he’d been loading the cart just minutes earlier. “Oh, you little …” 

He grabbed the tarts – with authority too – and started his way back to the ballroom. The buzzing of his phone slowed his stride somewhat halfway there. Shifting the box to one hand, he pulled the thing out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Hey, Scott. Whatever it is, it’d better be important because I’m at work still,” he said without preamble.

“Oh, sorry, buddy. I didn’t realize.” Stiles struggled to detect any contriteness in his best friend’s tone. “How’s the new job?”

Sometimes, Stiles wondered if he and Scott had different definitions of important. The guy was lucky he was cute. And a good friend. Seeing a turn a few feet away, he stepped aside so as to not disrupt the flow of foot traffic as he talked. “It’s good. Just setting up a table for a fancy function right now. You should see this hotel, Scotty. The Four Seasons, in Beverly Hills. It’s all old Hollywood glamour on the outside with gargoyles and everything!”

“Gargoyles, huh? Do you come alive at night and protect the city?” Scott’s voice was a mix of playfulness and genuine curiosity.

“No, Scott, they do not come alive at night and protect the city,” he replied flatly. “And kudos for the pop culture reference, but how do you even know that show? I mean, it aired before you were even born.”

“Dude, we’re the same age.”

He let out a dismissive sound at Scott’s weak retort. “True, but I’m me, and you’re … well, you.”

“Hey, I can be pop culture literate, you know.”

Stiles adjusted the grip he had on the tarts, and quirked a corner of his mouth up teasingly, even though Scott couldn’t see it. “Yes, and Star Wars is your favourite franchise,” he deadpanned. “Kira got Disney Plus, didn’t she?” 

There was a brief pause before Scott responded with a meek, “Yes.”

“Knew it. So, what’s up? Things okay back home?” Unlike Stiles, Scott hadn’t had any problems finding a summer job back in Beacon Hills with the local vet. And having known him for so long, Stiles was happy for his best friend, truly – in the veterinary medicine program at UC Davis, job lined up to practice in their home town after graduation – but sometimes, just sometimes, there was that little spike a jealousy at how easy everything had been for him. Stiles, on the other hand … well, he’d never had things fall so neatly into place. Career-wise, his scattered thought processes had had him waffling back and forth between extremes from forensics to philosophy for most of high school, and somehow, he’d ended up at Caltech, one year away from finishing his undergraduate degree in data science and English, of all things.

“Oh, yeah, everything’s good. I was just calling to see if you were still coming up next weekend. You know, for my mom’s birthday and everything.”

Stiles smiled fondly. Melissa McCall had filled in the big mom-sized hole in his life growing up, and she was family. “Of course, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I got the weekend off, and it’ll give me a chance to check in on my dad, and hang out with you and the gang.”

“That’s perfect! Feels like it’s been forever since we’ve hung out. Especially with you deciding to stay down there for the summer.”

Stiles suppressed a sigh. “It’s a money thing, Scotty. We talked about it, remember? The job’s got decent pay, and I’m living rent-free right now because I’m housesitting for a classmate while he’s away for the summer. It all works out.”

Scott remained silent for a moment, but Stiles could easily imagine his pout and sad, puppy eyes. “I know,” he started slowly. “But you could’ve just come back and gotten a summer job here instead, and lived at home. It would’ve been the same thing.”

There were reasons even Stiles couldn’t articulate for his decision to stay near school this year. It wasn’t that he didn’t love going back home. After all, his dad, Scott, and all his childhood memories were there. But … but with the last year of his schooling upon him, he’d all of a sudden felt so aimless, adrift, and each time he thought about the future, that creeping sense of panic would begin to encroach on his insides, squeezing his stomach and clawing at his throat. Logically, he knew he needed to ground himself somehow, find something to hold onto that would propel him forward, and he didn’t think going back to Beacon Hills was the best way to do that. Not that working at a bakery was the answer, sugary perks aside, but it was something.

“I kind of like working at the bakery,” he said instead. It was a flimsy argument, but Scott – sweet, oblivious Scott – bought it.

“Okay, well, in that case, can I ask you a favor? Would you mind picking up a cake from your fancy bakery for Mom’s party next week? Please? I’ll love you forever!”

“First off, Scotty, as my best friend, you are contractually obligated to love me forever, and second, you realize it’s a seven-hour drive to get home, right? You want me to drive a cake for seven hours through a good portion of California in the summer?”

“Aww, c’mon, it’s not that bad, is it? Kira looked up some of the bakery’s photo, and she said they were really cute. I just thought it’d be cool to have one for the party.”

Stiles leaned back against the nearest wall, knowing full well that he wouldn’t deny the request. “Fine. I’ll find a way. Maybe a cooler or something.”

“Thanks, buddy! You’re the best!” Scott’s wide, goofy grin could be heard in his tone.

“You know it,” he returned good-naturedly. “But hey, I’ve got to go. I need to finish up this last order before I clock out for the day.”

Finally realizing this wasn’t the best time for a chat, Scott readily said his goodbyes and hung up. Stiles slid the phone into his pocket, and breathed out slowly. He tilted his head back and rested it tiredly against the wall. He loved Scott. He really did. They’d been partners in crime for as far back as he could remember, brothers to the end, but as they’d gotten older, and as they each forged their own paths, developed different relationships, they fit together a bit differently now. It wasn’t bad or unpleasant or anything. In fact, it was the opposite, but It was still just … different.

“God, they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel if you’re my replacement.”

He straightened at the unfamiliar voice, the meaning of the words not fully registering before he realized that they were meant for him. “E-Excuse me?” He eyed the stranger up and down, taking in the broad shoulders, coiffed blond hair, clean-shaven face, and perfectly symmetrical jawline. The guy looked like all the other prototypical aspiring actors who haunted the L.A. service industry. Sometimes, he wondered if moving to SoCal just exacerbated his inferiority complex in the looks department.

“The agency sent you, right? Didn’t think they’d actually find anyone with the late notice, but I guess even a third-string substitute is better than none.”

The guy’s attitude reminded him of Jackson, his high school nemesis (or bully, but… semantics). “Wha–“

“They must’ve. Client said to meet them in the service hallway, entrance to the lobby. That’s why I told you to come here. Anyways, here’s the file or script or whatever. Sounds like an easy gig. My agent just texted about a last-minute casting call. A speaking role in a Marvel movie, so hell yeah, I’m going.” 

Stiles was tearing his gaze away from the small ‘Lobby’ placard on the wall behind him when he felt a slight weight on the box of tarts he was holding. He quickly grabbed the small booklet before it slid off, and stared, wide-eyed, at the rapidly retreating back of the stranger. “Wait, but … I’m not…” His shoulders slumped when the guy was too far away to hear him. “… Who you’re looking for,” he finished.

Crap.

He glanced down at the stack of papers in his hand. The cover page was non-descript, with just a simple title – Looking Glass – centered on it in Courier font. Who printed in Courier font nowadays, by the way? Readjusting the tarts, he quickly flipped through the sheets, and was none the wiser as to what he’d just been given. There was a short description of what Looking Glass was – some type of fashion and lifestyle publication that ‘reflected the diversity of life’ – and a vague list of ‘Do’s and Don’t’s’ that made no sense to Stiles without context. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, to be honest. Mr. I’m-Generically-Good-Looking-and-thus-Entitled-to-be-a-Jerk was long gone, and he had no idea who he was supposed contact to let them know the guy had ducked out. Not for the first time, he cursed his wholesome upbringing and overdeveloped sense of responsibility. Some people would probably just walk away, say it wasn’t their problem, but nope, not him. He and his overbearing conscience had his body rooted to the spot, conflicted as to what to do and where to go now.

“Oh, good, you’re here.” 

Stiles startled enough to almost dropped the tarts when a blond bombshell with bright red lipstick and a tight miniskirt slipped through the nearby lobby door. She gave him a long, pointed look, her expression a scary combination of critical assessment and predatory hunger. “I’m Erica, the Hale executive assistant. You’re a little different from the ones the agency usually sends, but in a good way. You’ve got the whole cute geeky hipster thing going for you.” She gave him a suggestive wink that made Stiles what to run away for fear of being eaten alive … in both the sexual and literal sense. “I see you got the information package I sent,” she continued after noticing the booklet in his hands. “Everything should be straightforward then, I assume. I’ve got your outfit, but I think the measurements might be a bit off, but lucky for you, I’ve gotten really good with a needle and thread since I started working for the Hales. I can make a few alterations pretty quickly. Payment will be as we agreed. Two thousand upfront, and the other two thousand after the night is over. Just come with me. We’ll get you fitted, and have you sign the NDA.”

Stiles stood, mouth open, ready to interject somewhere during Erica’s whole spiel – because this was the very person he’d been looking for to fix this whole mix-up – but there had been no natural pause to interrupt. How did she do that? Did she not breath? But then, she’d mentioned payment. Two thousand? Or rather, four thousand? For one evening’s work? That was more than he would’ve made this whole month. He closed his mouth, internally questioning if taking a job that just fell into his lap would be going against his moral code at all. As long as it wasn’t anything illegal, it should be okay … right? He owed it to his meagre bank account to follow this up, or at least, find out what this was all about.

His body answered for him when his legs started following Erica of their own volition into the carpeted lobby. They skirted the mingling crowds, turned down a quiet corridor, and eventually, entered one of the private suites on the main floor. Stiles’ step faltered as he took in the spacious living room and dining area, but Erica didn’t break stride as she headed into what he assumed was the bedroom – and at a remarkable pace too, given the stilettos she had on. Quickly placing the tarts and the booklet onto the dining table, he hurried after her, completely oblivious as to what to expect. 

“Here, put this on.” Her command was followed by a garment bag being tossed his way the moment he entered the room, and he flailed in an effort to catch it.

“What is it?”

“Your outfit. The length will probably be good, but the waist might need to be taken in a bit. Lucky for you, I’m good at my job, and can get that done once you put it on.” Erica stood, waiting expectantly, and once the words sunk in, Stiles did the same. It was far from a Mexican stand-off, and normally, Stiles knew when he’d met his match in strong, capable women – case in point, Lydia Martin – but he didn’t know Erica well enough to stripe down in front of her.

The blonde finally relented, making a ‘You’re such a prude’ sound before leaving the room. “Your hat and pocket watch are on the bed,” she said right before she closed the door.

“Pocket… watch?” Puzzled, he looked down on the bed and lo and behold, there was a legitimate burnished gold pocket watch on the bed. Beside that sat a black, satin-lined top hat with… bunny ears? What in the world had he walked into? Part of him wondered if he should maybe come clean about the mix-up, apologize, and get the hell out of Dodge as fast as his jean-clad legs would carry him.

But then, that tiny, Scrooge-like voice inside his head repeated the words ‘four grand’, and he was a goner. What could he say? He was weak. He was just a boy, standing in front of an opportunity, asking it to love him. (And yes, rom-coms were his secret guilty pleasure, sue him.) After a few aborted tries – one of which may or may not have included the zipper getting stuck on the garment bag – he pulled out a really nice three-piece suit. He wasn’t exaggerating. It was really nice, a dark jacket with tails complimented by a shiny red waistcoat, and perfectly pressed pants. There was a white button-up shirt in behind it all that was so soft, he just wanted to curl up and live in it. He let out a low whistle of appreciation. Then, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Were those tiny, white hearts sewn into the waistcoat?

Huh.

Either way, odd details aside, it was a beautifully crafted outfit. Very Victorian-era inspired, if his many diversions into the bowels of Wikipedia had any say. He would never have the chance to wear something so fine again, so all the more reason for him to try it now. Mind made, he quickly shimmied out of his graphic tee and jeans, and slipped into the suit. 

Erica was right. The waist was a little loose, but once the main pieces were on – he had no idea how to tie the ascot-looking thing left on the hanger – he felt like a way cooler version of Monopoly’s Mr. Moneybags. He found the full-length mounted mirror by the closet and admired the cut of the fabric on his body.

“Turn around. I’ll take it in a bit.”

“Holy --!” Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin at Erica’s sudden appearance behind him. “Don’t sneak up on a guy like that! I could’ve killed you with my defensive reflexes alone,” he blabbered in an effort to hide his surprise.

“What, with your uncontrollable flailing and girly scream? Not likely.” Her tone was dry, and expression lofty, but duck’s back, thy name was Stiles! Fortunately for him, he’d become immune to insults to his masculinity. Lydia had trained him well, albeit through overexposure.

“Now, turn and take off the jacket,” she continued, shaking what looked like a sewing kit.

Stiles obeyed, standing as still as he could to let Erica work. Of course, that was to say, his fidgeting body got poked regularly by the needle. At first, it was accidental, because he knew he was shifting his weight back and forth, but after a while, he suspected Erica was just poking him on purpose.

“So…” he started after the fourth or fifth stab, trying to sound casual. “You work for the Hales, you said. Is that who I’m working for tonight?”

Erica made some sort of muffled affirmative sound behind him before she popped into view over his shoulder in the mirror, a couple of pins in her mouth. “Yeah, I’m mainly Laura’s assistant, but I get loaned out to the others. You can say, I’ve been around the Hale block and back.” There was a wicked twinkle in her eyes that just dared him to ask for some elaboration. Stiles wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

“So, Laura’s the one who hired me then?”

“You could say that.” She disappeared from view again just as Stiles felt a tug around his middle, and he fought to urge to suck in his stomach.

“And what exactly does she need me to do?” He’d never heard of the Hales, but his mind was already flipping through an encyclopedia of possibilities detailing what eccentric rich people could hire virile, young men for. And yes, his imagination was healthy. It was a gift and a curse.

“Did you not read the info package I sent?”

Stiles teetered to the balls of his feet and then back to his heels. “Well, that depends. By ‘read’, did you mean ‘skim’, or maybe ‘flip through’?”

A strong hand on his shoulder pushed his feet back down flat on that ground. Rather aggressively too. “Seriously? I thought you were a professional.”

“I am,” he returned without thinking. And it was the truth. He was a professional – a professional student, a professional bakery shop employee, even a really good professional slacker when the occasion arose. “I just didn’t get a chance to carefully read your little guidebook is all.”

“Well, lucky for you, reading isn’t a skill you’ll need for tonight. Just be the cute eye candy that you already are.”

“So, I’m an escort?”

Erica made some amused snorting sound behind him. “Sure, if that’s what you need to get you into the right mind space. But not exactly. Just smile, and be charming. You know, act like the perfect date for the public at large. Why do you think we usually hire actors?”

That was it? Okay, that didn’t sound too bad. He could act. Or, he liked to pretend he could. Surely, learning by diffusion from all the wannabe actors at the coffeeshops and restaurants after hanging around L.A. county for the last three years counted, right?

“Makes sense,” he said instead. Then, something struck him about Erica’s words. “Wait, usually…? As in, this isn’t the first time you’ve hired dates for your boss?”

“More often than you know,” came a muffled reply. There was some more tugging, and what Stiles could’ve sworn was an unnecessary pat on his ass. Then, Erica’s head popped into view again as she moved over to grab the ascot and start tying it around his neck. “But I’m not saying anything else until you sign the NDA on the desk.”

Stiles glanced over to the desk in question, the paper and pen on its surface sitting benignly on its surface. Oh, evil, enticing seductress, calling to him with its alluring siren’s song … and the promise of money.

“Done.” Erica straightened, and made a muted catcall as she took in her handiwork.

“As an enlightened individual, I should probably protest the objectification, but as a self-conscious male in constant need of validation, thank you.” He twisted left and right as he took in his reflection in the mirror. And hot damn, he looked good. The structured cut of the shirt and waistcoat seemed to enhance the trimness of his waist and the broadness of his shoulders, and when Erica tossed him the coat and he slipped it on, he looked downright… proper.

“Well, what you do with your ego is your business. I just need you to sign, and we’re good.”

Stiles thought about debating his decision a bit longer, but really, if he was being honest with himself, he’d come too far already. He was in a pretty swanky suite, with a blonde bombshell who normally wouldn’t look twice at someone like him, in a beautifully tailored suit, being offered four thousand dollars to just spend the night mingling at a party. Could he really walk away now? Before he could further second-guess his actions, he quickly went over to the desk and signed the forms. The moment he did, Erica came up beside him and slid a cheque and a key card up along the desk surface.

“Here’s your pre-payment. I’ll e-transfer you the rest tomorrow,” she explained. “The contact info on the form is correct?”

He nodded, pocketing the offered items and suddenly feeling a little dirty about taking the money. “So, I still have a van in the service alley behind …”

“I’ll get one of the valets to take care of it.” She cut him off readily as she grabbed the agreement, and headed toward the door. “You can use the suite to store your stuff. Suit’s yours to keep. There are shoes in the closet. Find a size that works. Just be in the lobby in fifteen minutes. Oh, and keys?”

Obediently, Stiles fished his keys out from his discarded jean pocket and tossed them over. “So who – ?“

He stopped short when he realized Erica had ignored him and left the room. He stood frozen for a moment, a rare occurrence, waiting for his brain to catch up with the sequence of events from the last few minutes. And when he heard the distance click of the exterior door closing, he finally started moving. He checked the closet first, and slipped on a pair of nice patent leather shoes that didn’t pinch too badly. Next, he clipped the pocket watch to his waistcoat – and with minimal finger-pinching, thank you very much – before he adjusted the hat atop his head. The instant he did, he had an epiphany: the suit, the watch, the ears … he was the White Rabbit! The one from Alice in Wonderland. It made sense now, with the party décor and the company name. It was fun, if a bit kitschy.

Which reminded him … the tarts! They needed to be on the table in the ballroom like… yesterday! He quickly dug out his phone from his other jean pocket, and sent a message off to Molly that he’d be dropping the van off after she closed. He’d done it once before last week when a delivery took longer than anticipated, and she didn’t seem to mind. That done, he rushed back to the dining area where he’d left the box, and stopped abruptly when he realized there was a stranger just standing there.

And holy hotcake on a hotplate, it was one good looking stranger. The man was tall, probably just as tall as Stiles, if not just slightly more, and dressed similarly in a Victorian-style suit. But even so, Stiles could tell the guy was way better built, his crisp white shirt and dark waistcoat stretching across a broad shoulders and flat stomach. And what was even more endearing was how the little details to his costume – the ruby-colored, heart-shaped eye-patch sitting against his forehead and the tiny red hearts on his ascot that seemed to eerily match Stiles’s waistcoat – juxtaposed his otherwise dark and ruggedly handsome appearance. Like that perfect stubble, and that chiseled jawline, which was, at that very moment …

“Oh my God, you heathen!” Stiles rushed over and quickly closed the tart box. He drew the line at returning the tart the stranger was already bringing to his mouth back into the box because … eww. “Did anyone ever teach you to not steal food that wasn’t yours!”

He pulled the box away, ready to protect the other innocent pastries from the tart thief with his body if need be. Stunned hazel eyes stared at him as if he’d grown two heads, and Stiles thought he deserved a medal for only being moderately distracted by all those changing shades of green, blue, and brown. 

“They were just sitting there. They’re fair game.” 

As far as arguments went, it was a pretty flimsy one. “Not when the lid is closed!” he returned. He would have to count the one tart as a loss, and hope no one noticed. Still glaring accusingly at the thief, he grabbed the purchase order from where he’d left it on the table, and backed out of the room like the guy was going to attack if he left his line of sight. Not that that was a likely scenario, but Stiles wanted an excuse to be able to stare at that bit of glowering eye candy just a little longer. He didn’t know who the stranger was, but he was allowed to look, wasn’t he?

Once in the hallway, he pivoted and hurried toward the ballroom. Despite one wrong turn, for which he was quite proud of himself because it could’ve been so much worse given he hadn’t been paying attention when he’d been going the other way with Erica, he retraced his steps and managed to sneak into the ballroom again. Guests had started milling about, but lucky for him, he and his fancy attire blended in nicely with the themed party. He got the last of the bakery order set up and signed off by one of the organizer’s assistants without any issues. 

Job done, he breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way out into the lobby as Erica had instructed. It was only after he’d stood there for several minute that he realized he didn’t know who he was waiting for. Erica has mentioned that her boss – Laura? – had hired him, but he had no idea what she looked like, what she would be wearing, or even, how old she was. Maybe she was an eccentric elderly lady who just like to be escorted by young men to these types of events. That would be interesting. He’d always wondered what being a boy toy would feel like. Not that he fantasized about it or anything, but the concept was always amusing to read about.

“There was cognac in those tarts.”

Stiles tensed at the voice, and if his heart rate picked up, it was totally involuntary, because there he was again – that well-dressed Neanderthal who’d pilfered his tarts. Never mind the fact that the heart-shaped eye patch should’ve made him look comical instead of roguishly handsome, the man was an interloper who threw off his equilibrium, and Stiles needed whatever equilibrium he could get in uncertain situations like these. “What the – ? Are you stalking the tarts now? I mean, I can’t stop you from taking them since it looks like you’re a party guest, but leave some for other people.”

An expressive eyebrow arched, as if punctuating the ridiculousness of the accusation. “No, I am not stalking the tarts.”

“Then why are you talking to me? Wait, are you stalking me?” Because that would be even more ridiculous. Really, look at the guy, and then look at him. No way he’d ever catch the interest of someone in this man’s league. No way, unless …

“No, but you are my date.”

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

Things could be worse. For instance, a huge earthquake could hit California, causing the whole state to break off into the Pacific. Or maybe, an undetected asteroid could enter the Earth’s atmosphere and end life as they knew it. Yeah, things could be worse.

As it was, Stiles just swallowed another dose of debilitating self-consciousness, and stepped further into the ballroom beside probably the hottest guy to ever grace the face of this planet! Because really, how was it that a man who looked like he’d just walked off the pages of a fashion spread needed to hire a date for the night? The guy just had to snap his fingers and men and women would be falling over themselves to be his plus-one, no questions asked.

Derek. He had introduced himself as Derek Hale earlier, which, Stiles thought, was a good thing to be aware of considering that not knowing one’s date’s name might be a faux-pas amongst polite society and all. This was definitely a far cry from the imaginary elderly lady he’d been mentally preparing himself for.

“Woah, wait, hold my hand,” he said, and grabbed Derek’s arm without thinking. The contact was reflexive, solid, and somewhat grounding.

Derek glanced down as their fingers locked together before he threw Stiles a judgmental scowl. That, in itself, was quite impressive given the guy had only one visible eye to work with. 

“We’ve got about four steps to walk down, and your depth perception is off with that eye patch,” he explained quietly. “It’ll be a less embarrassing entrance if you don’t trip down the stairs.”

Stiles could almost see the moment the explanation set in. He took the almost imperceptible nod and a tightening around his hand as his go-ahead, and carefully led Derek down the few steps into the costumed crowd. He didn’t know why, but a small part of him preened at the sliver of trust he’d been given.

Several heads turned at their arrival, and while Stiles still felt eclipsed by the veritable god at his side, he had to admit that with their costumes – and matching costumes, at that – they were a fairly striking couple. He rather liked his White Rabbit outfit, and Derek, with his – 

He chuckled when he figured out what his date for the night was dressed as, which garnered another piercing look from the man in question.

“What’s so funny?”

He met Derek’s gaze, and tried not to laugh again. “I just realized, you’re the Knave of Hearts, aren’t you?”

“And you’re the White Rabbit. Your point?”

“You’re the Knave of Hearts, and you stole my tarts. Like that nursery rhyme!” He grinned widely to stifle more laughter, and Derek just gave him another ‘You’re so weird’ glare. At least, he hoped it was a ‘You’re so weird’ glare, and not a ‘Why the fuck am I stuck with you?’ one. 

After another minute of self-amusement, he sobered. “So…” He glanced surreptitiously around the room, his sense of wonder not as overwhelming as it once was now that he’d gotten used to the set-up. “What did you need me to do? Do I hang around you all evening? Do I just fetch you drinks? Or maybe wow you with my critically acclaimed conversations skills?”

“No.” The denial was so quick that Stiles was almost insulted. Almost.

“Hey, I resent that. I’ll have you know I’m a great talker. Once, when I was a kid, I struck up a conversation with a perp that was brought into the station. My dad, he’s a sheriff in my hometown, you know. Anyways, I was just hanging out in his office after school, waiting for him to finish his shift, but then I got bored and went looking for him. I couldn’t find him right away, but they’d just brought in this guy, and he was handcuffed and just sitting at one of the deputies’ desks. He looked as bored as I was, so I introduced myself and started talking. By the time the deputy came back, the guy confessed to robbing Mrs. Rocco’s store and begged to be put away. See, I’ve got a gift.”

That seemingly perpetual scowl on Derek’s face didn’t change at all, but Stiles could’ve sworn a corner of his mouth twitched. He’d count that as a small victory. He didn’t know the man, and probably wouldn’t know him very well by the end of the night either, but how could a person maintain the whole dark and broody look anyways? Stiles bet Derek would go from supermodel hot to drop-dead gorgeous if he smiled.

“Didn’t you read the info package?”

Stiles’s posture deflated at little at the question. First Erica, and now, Derek. It seemed like that little booklet held all the answers to life. “No, I did not. Sue me.”

Derek sighed, as if expecting the response. “We’ve already made an entrance together, so people know. Just hover around and check in from time to time. I won’t stay too long. We’ll leave together, and then, you’re done.”

“I can do that!” The statement came out a bit more excitedly than he anticipated, and Stiles realized Derek must’ve read into the tone a bit differently if the darkening of his expression was any indication. “Not that I don’t want to hang out or anything, but you know, less awkward silences, right?” he added brightly, hoping it didn’t sound like some excuse to avoid his supposed ‘job’.

“Right.” Derek turned away just then, his attention directed across the room toward a woman with rich brown hair, and bright red lips, dressed as the Queen of Hearts. Not that this was surprising. The woman was striking, commanding the room with just her presence, and anyone with two eyes – or even one, in Derek’s case at the moment – would be distracted by her.

Stiles should’ve been grateful for escaping the proverbial hot seat, but he couldn’t quite explain the odd spike of hurt at the dismissal. Whatever. He’d just met the guy. Why was he even feeling hurt? It was probably misdirected guilt he felt for abandoning his duties. 

Effectively left to his own devices, he wandered off. But now that he was free, he wasn’t sure what to do. Parties had never been his thing, especially fancy parties like this. He’d never been one to roll in the party invitations. Most weekends in high school were spent gaming with Scott, and aside from a few college keggers that he had no real recollection of, he was pretty much a party virgin. How did they make it look so fun and easy in the movies? There was a live band playing, some upbeat jazzy arrangement of current pop songs, but if his teenage antics at the Jungle had taught him anything, it was that discretion was the better part of valor when it came to his dancing. This wasn’t his usual scene, and he doubted there’d be much appreciation for his - err … skills. Not only that, but this wasn’t his crowd either. Usually, he could strike up conversation with anyone – or anything, for that matter – but he didn’t know anyone here, and he didn’t trust himself enough to make small talk with strangers, and not accidentally reveal that he was a complete and utter fake. He was pretty sure there was something about that in the non-disclosure agreement he’d signed.

He eventually found himself by the buffet tables, sneaking bite-sized hors d’oeuvres like the starving student he was. Yes, he was a stereotype, but he owned it! 

After loading his plate, he took up residence by the nearby wall, his eyes seeking out the figure of his ‘date’ across the room. Derek was speaking to the woman he’d noticed earlier. The two of them together, heads bent and engrossed in conversation, was a sight to behold - tall, beautiful, and unerringly imposing. But whereas the woman moved with a grace of quiet authority, Derek’s posture exuded an air of barely leashed strength. Again, Stiles wondered what the point of his role was supposed to be tonight. Why did a man like Derek need someone like him? Firstly, why not a woman? Surely, that Queen of Hearts he was talking to would’ve made a more impressive date. And secondly, why pay someone such an exorbitant fee when Stiles was sure ninety-five percent of the sane, general public would do this for free?

“So, you’re Derek Hale’s date tonight, huh?”

And of course, some stranger would decide to start up a conversation when he’s in the middle of stuffing his face. Popping the last bit of the bacon-wrapped scallop into this mouth – and Christ, bacon deserved its own food group – he tried his best to answer around his sudden chipmunk cheeks.

“Yup, that’s me,” he tried to respond, though it came out more like a muffled garble. The dark-haired man who’d approached him seemed young, likely only a few years older than Stiles himself, but was impeccably dressed in a sharp tux with a subtle ace of spades pocket square as an accent. With a glass of probably some hard drink that sounded movie-cool in hand, and an intelligent, assessing gaze, the man looked like he’d walked off the set of some Bond film. Stiles felt so out of his league here. 

“You’re a little different from the usual dates he brings.” A corner of the stranger’s mouth quirked up in amusement as the man held out a hand. “Robert. Robert Weil. And you are?”

Stiles couldn’t detect any maliciousness in his tone, just an understandable mix of curiosity and politeness. He shuffled the plate and napkin in his hands, silently congratulating himself for not dropping anything while swallowing the last of his food, and returned the gesture for a handshake. “Stiles.”

“Stiles. That’s an unusual name. Not one you hear a lot.”

“It’s more a nickname. And well, it’s not a unique as yours, right? Bob?”

Stiles inwardly winced at his own words after they left his mouth. That was definitely not what Erica would’ve called charming, by any means.

To his relief, the man chuckled at his comment. Humor was good. That was part of the whole being charming bit, wasn’t it? 

“Touché. Rob is fine. And it’s good to see that the Hales are practicing what they preach. A good sign for Looking Glass, I think.”

Stiles perked up at the tidbit of information. He’d been operating blindly for the last hour, making do with whatever details he could glean from the people around him. Rob seemed like a promising resource. Witnessing his dad’s various interrogation techniques firsthand was coming in handy.

“Why do you say that?” he asked innocently.

The man shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Because I’m a motivated investor. If Looking Glass does well, then I make money. Easy as that. And if its new CEO lives the lifestyle it advertises right from launch, then that can only do good things for its image.”

Stiles thought back to the dossier he’d quickly flipped through earlier that evening. There had been some tagline about ‘the diversity of life’ in there, which would put Rob’s comment into context. Not only that, but his being Derek’s – who he assumed was the new CEO, which … hello, power kink! – fake date made sense now. Huh, that file did apparently have all the answers after all.

“Yeah, that worked out, didn’t it?” He smiled what he thought was his most winning smile. He may not have been what they’d originally expected but by God, he was going to earn his pay tonight. He could make innocuous small talk and be as perfect and supportive a date as the best of them. “So, is that your full-time job then? Investing money into a new company and get invited to fancy parties for it?”

A spark of humor mixed with the cool assessment in Rob’s brown eyes as they looked Stiles up and down. Stiles was glad the man caught onto his teasing tone, but still felt self-conscious suddenly at the scrutiny, and fought the urge to glance down at himself too. Had he dribbled any sauce on his really nice shirt when he’d been stuffing his face earlier? Shit, he hoped not.

“Among other things.”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“I dabble in a few ventures. Some pay off. Some don’t. My current pet project is a nightclub downtown. You should come by sometime. And bring Derek. It’s young and trendy, so you just happen to fall into the target demographic.”

Stiles affected a small smirk and quirked an eyebrow as the other man held out a business card. He took the card and casually slipped it into one of his jacket pockets. See, he could be smooth. “You think I’m young and trendy, huh?”

“Aren’t you? If you’re dating Derek Hale, I think that automatically puts you in those categories.”

He couldn’t tell if the man was flirting with him or not – his radar for these things kind of sucked – but the comment did pull a full-on smile and a small laugh from him. He’d never been the popular one in school. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You’re welcome.” Rob tipped the glass he had in hand and smiled. “So, now that you know about me, tell me about yourself. How did you manage to catch the attentions of the aloof, and somewhat unsociable, Derek Hale?”

The question was expected. Turnabout was fair play, Stiles supposed, but he’d never been good at lying. That likely stemmed from the inferiority complex he’d develop during his formative years of trying and failing with a sheriff for a father. So, he opted for as much honesty as he could.

“I guess you could say it just sort of happened. ‘Right place, right time’ thing.” And from there, he launched into the prototypical, mundane story that was his life. Student worries, summer jobs, and adulting anxiety – they sounded so … so normal, but if there was one thing Stiles was good at, it was talking, bouncing from one topic to another with no lull or uncomfortable pause. He waited for his conversation partner’s attention to wander, for that usual glaze-over of the eyes or exaggerated ‘I’m needed somewhere else’ look, but Rob just nodded and politely asked questions at the appropriate times. It encouraged Stiles enough to simply continue chatting, and become so engrossed that he didn’t feel an arm snake around his waist. The touch was light enough, but it did startle him. He turned to find Derek standing beside him, so unexpectedly close, and he hoped his surprise and increased heartrate at the man’s presence hadn’t been too obvious. After all, he should be comfortable with his ‘date’s’ arm around him, right? Never mind the fact that he was fighting the sudden urge to lean into the heat and strength of the near stranger standing beside him. Was that weird? It was weird, wasn’t it?

“Ah, Derek. Good to see you. I was just getting to know Stiles here a bit better.”

“Robert.”

The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, which effectively made Stiles feel out of place. But it didn’t take long for him to realized that Derek wasn’t much for small talk because … well, he swore he spent a whole minute just looking back and forth between the two men as the dreaded weight of awkward silence hung between them. And ugh, he hated awkward silences!

“So … it was nice meeting you, Rob,” he finally said with forced brightness, thereby interrupting the liveliest non-conversation ever. “We should probably go and mingle and help Derek do important CEO stuff. Investors aren’t going to small talk themselves, you know.”

His half-hearted attempt at humor did the trick and cut the odd impasse. “Yes, definitely. I didn’t realize I was hogging you. Sorry. And my nightclub, it’s a standing invitation. Just give me a shout, and I’ll put you on the VIP list.” 

Stiles nodded his thanks and said goodbye before locking his fingers with Derek’s and pulling him away. It was a gamble whether the other man would follow or not, but the action seemed casual enough that he hoped Derek would just go with it. Luckily, he did.

“What the fuck was that, dude?” he turned to ask when they’d made it to another corner of the room. “You gotta give me a signal or something if you need me to act a certain way. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to take a backseat, or if I was supposed to be the damsel in some misguided attempt to rescue me.”

“Neither.” Derek’s expression gave nothing way. Surprise, surprise.

And if Stiles was being completely honest, that was a bit frustrating. He got the whole ‘tall, dark, and handsome with a dash of mystery’ schtick, but seeing as he was travelling into uncharted territory here, he would’ve appreciated less mystery, and something more along the lines of full disclosure, preferably in large print and at a grade six reading level. “So, what did you need then?”

For a brief moment, Stiles swore he saw a flicker of uncertainty on his companion’s face, but if that was the case, it was quickly replaced by that tightened jaw and penetrating gaze – or eye, or … whatever. 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.” Stiles repeated and returned an expectant look, hoping his silence would prompt more of an answer. Two could play at this game. Games, at least in the literal sense, were his specialty. And no one, not even Scott, could beat him at anything. Stiles was a game master.

Then, Derek had the nerve – the nerve! – to roll his eye as if he were the frustrating one. “Laura suggested we should probably hang out together for a part of the night.”

“Laura? As in the one who hired me?”

“Yes, my sister.” Derek nodded, and if the sudden resigned drop of his shoulders wasn’t a universal sentiment of all put-upon younger siblings everywhere, then Stiles would eat his hat. No, wait, scratch that. That was just … yuck. Who came up with these stupid idioms anyways?

Well, that explained a few things. Laura had hired someone to be Derek’s date. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a common practice between siblings, but hey, this was California, and L.A. to be specific, so he supposed stranger things have been known to happen. “She’s the one dressed as the Queen of Hearts?”

Derek nodded again, and for some inexplicable reason, Stiles felt a little tickle of joy at the confirmation. Sure, this whole thing may have been for show, but deep down, he realized it was sort of nice to pretend that he could actually date someone like Derek, at least just for one night. Just regular, old him, and not some glamorous actor or model.

“Well, in that case …” He looked down forlornly at the last remaining piece of wrapped scallop on the plate he still had in hand, and offered it up. “Bacon?” It was likely cold by now, but bacon tasted good at every temperature. He hoped Derek understood the sacrifice he was making. 

When the man made no move to take it, Stiles held the thing up higher and grinned. “I have it on good authority that bacon is a good chaser for strawberry tarts.”

A corner of Derek’s lips pulled up again – Stiles swore it did! – before he plucked the appetizer of the plate. “God, you’re ridiculous,” he stated before popping the scallop in his mouth.

“Yeah, but it’s one of my most endearing traits,” Stiles threw back in a matter-of-fact tone. “This one time, I was craving bacon so bad, I found a package of it hidden in the back of the freezer, and cooked the whole thing, just for myself. I usually can’t do that because I have to watch what my dad eats, questionable cholesterol levels and all, but lucky for me, he was on the second half of a double shift that morning. Or so I thought! The old man had switched the second shift, and when he called to say he was coming home, I panicked. I scarfed down as much as I could, but I’m only human, so I had to hide the rest. I managed to sneak most of it into my room, and air out the kitchen before he got home. He might’ve suspected, since he’s got the nose of a bloodhound, but he didn’t say anything. Unfortunately, with school and lacrosse and everything, I forgot about the bacon. I found it a week later when I dug into the back of my sock drawer. Still ate it though. I couldn’t, in good conscience, throw it out.”

Derek’s chewing had slowed somewhat as the story had progressed, and fortunately, he’d managed to swallow before the end. His look was what Stiles would call mortified, or as close to it as the man’s frowny face came. “That’s disgusting.”

“Hey, it was still good. No food poisoning or anything. Still alive, see?” He puffed out his chest, and squared his shoulders to demonstrate his hardy physique – or hardy, at least by his standards. “Besides, salt’s a preservative. There was never any danger.”

“No, but it does cause high blood pressure, and increase your chances of stroke and kidney issues.”

“You shut up, Judgey McJudgerson.” Stiles tapped his companion’s chest good-naturedly, loving the fact that Derek was actually conversing with him. Holy, the guy’s chest was like a rock. And where had this stupid, sudden urge to feel it out for himself come from? “You probably drink protein shakes for breakfast, and eat nothing but lean meat and minimal carbs all day.”

Derek lowered his eyes to the empty plate in Stiles’ hand, his silent retort obvious.

“Oh, well, okay.” Stiles deflated a little, acknowledging the point. “So, you have a cheat day.”

“I don’t have – “ 

Derek didn’t have to stop mid-sentence for Stiles to realize something had changed. His companion’s whole body tensed, back straightening and lips thinning, and he fought an almost instinctive urge to step closer into a more defensive position. Strange. Curious and a bit anxious, he followed Derek’s gaze to a stranger approaching them, an older man who moved with such superiority and self-importance that Stiles instantly disliked him.

“What are you doing here, Gerard?” Derek practically spat out the newcomer’s name as if it tasted vile. “You weren’t invited, and you’re not welcomed here.”

The new arrival – Gerard – smiled smugly, which, in Stiles’ book, put him firmly in the villain column. All prototypical villains had hubris by the boatloads, didn’t they? “On the contrary, I was invited as a plus one. Besides, I wouldn’t give up this chance to witness nepotism at its finest. It’s a good thing your parents aren’t around anymore to witness what it’ll do to their legacy.”

Stiles didn’t know much about Derek, his family, his friends, or his enemies, but he knew that was a low blow. Even now, when someone brought up his mother, there was always that little wave of sadness that washed through him. And the subject of a dead loved one being brought up by someone like Gerard, someone Derek hated as evidence would have it, was doubly hard. Memories should be treasured, not tarnished.

“Tread carefully, Gerard. Just because they’re not here doesn’t mean you can start spreading rumors about them,” Derek ground out through clenched teeth. A glance down told Stiles that his date’s hands were balled so tightly, the knuckles were white. He wanted to reach over, and coaxed the tension out of them so badly. Fingernails digging into palms that hard couldn’t be a good thing. But he didn’t. He kept his hands to himself.

“And whose fault is that? Your parents not being here. Fine son you turned out to be.”

Derek’s nostrils flared at the insinuation, and all Stiles could do was watch helplessly, bracing for Derek to outright punch the old man. Oh, the optics of that would be horrible.

“Fuck you,” Derek said instead, and without another word, walked away.

Stiles stood frozen for a second, not entirely sure what had just happened. He gave Gerard a hard look, trying to understand how any decent human being could needle others the way the old man just did. His only conclusion was that he wasn’t a decent human being.

“You’re a jerk,” he stated plainly.

Gerard stared back with the same hardness. “I’d be careful if I were you, boy. Nothing good ever came from associating with the Hales.”

That sealed it. He didn’t like this man at all. Granted, he probably knew just as much about Gerard as he did Derek, which was to say, practically nothing, but his instincts were ringing alarm bells about this man being bad news, and Stiles trusted his instincts. They had always guided him well in the past and he wasn’t going to ignore them now.

“Well, you aren’t me, and it’s my funeral, isn’t it?” With that, he turned, and followed in Derek’s footsteps.

(***)

Stiles found Derek fifteen minutes later, after having walked around the main floor of the hotel twice. He had been about to call it quits and just leave when he saw a familiar form tucked away in the corner of the lobby behind a couple of potted plants. In that instant, he was struck by how lonely the man looked, a solitary figure somehow isolated from the hustle and bustle of the foot traffic around him. Stiles felt for him. He’d had those moments too, moments when the world spun too fast or too hard or too loud – or he did – and he was left alone, even when there were people around him. It wasn’t a pleasant place to be.

“Shove over,” he said casually as he approached and plopped himself down on the plush chaise without waiting for a response.

Derek glared at him, the accusation in the look evident, even as he shifted grudgingly over to make space. He’d taken the eye patch off, and wow, the full force of the man’s eyes was intense. Gorgeous, but intense. They could potentially harness that power for some sort of weapon. 

“What are you still doing here? Job’s done. You can go.” His tone was gruff, dismissive … and it totally sparked Stiles’ stubborn streak.

He took off his hat, lean back into the comfortable seat, and straightened his legs out in front of him. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t feel like it.”

He fiddled around with his hat, bending the rabbit ears, smoothing the fur, and all the while, he felt his reluctant companion’s heavy gaze on him. He tried not to squirm – and did a commendable job of it, truth be told – but he remained silent. Derek followed suit. He didn’t know how long they sat there for, all quiet and awkward, but eventually, and strangely, that awkwardness became less so, until they just … were.

Still, Stiles had never been on to remain in one spot for too long if he could help it. He let out a dramatic breath and put his hat down beside him.

“My mother died when I was ten,” he said conversationally. He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but he didn’t want to stop now that he’d started. “It’s still tough when people mention her, or something reminds me of her, even though it’s been well over a decade. I used to get all sad and mopey because I would think about her in her last days, all drained and weak, hooked up to hospital machines. Nothing like the mom I was used to, the mom who laughed and loved and lived.” He could feel a prickle behind his eyes at the memory, the precursor to tears. But whereas once, he would’ve given in to them easily, he’d learned to handle and process it better now. He smiled sadly, and embraced them for what they were; they were a part of him, of who he was. Derek hadn’t reacted to his words, so he continued.

“But now, I remember the good times more. Like, my last happy memory of her is my favorite. We had a family trip to New York in December the last year she was alive. I don’t remember everything we did, but I remember us renting skates and learning to skate for the first time in front of the big Christmas tree by Rockefeller Center. I fell a lot, and it was cold, but I had so much fun. Afterwards, you’d think we’d go for hot chocolate or something warm, but Mom was weird. She convinced my dad to take us out for ice cream instead. I loved it.” He paused, mentally reliving the time in his head. “It’s not that we’ll ever stop missing them. It’s about how we chose to deal with them being gone. And I choose to remember when she was happy, when we were happy.”

He stopped there, suddenly realizing he’d just spilled a big piece of his soul out to a practical stranger. He didn’t know Derek, his past, his character, or his intentions. Most of all, he didn’t know if his advice was welcomed or what kind of reaction it would incite. He only hoped the results of his usual recklessness didn’t come back to bite him.

He hazarded a glance over to the other man, internally preparing himself for whatever judgement might be coming his way, but all he got was that strong, stoic profile. Not knowing what else to do, he turned and stared straight ahead as well. Random party guests in their themed costumes, and late arriving hotel patrons trickled through the lobby in a steady stream, and Stiles made a game of giving several of them convoluted backstories. He was in the middle of concocting a British spy with supernatural abilities one for the dapper gentleman current checking in when Derek finally spoke.

“Why did you tell me that?”

Stiles shrugged. “Because I wanted to, I guess. Because you needed to hear it? I don’t know.” And that was the truth, as far as he was aware.

There was a brief pause, as if Derek was processing the words, trying to make sense of it. “Well, thanks,” he said simply.

“Don’t mention it.”

They fell silent again, and Stiles started tapping his foot, watching idly as a woman dressed as what he assumed was the Cheshire Cat walked by. And then, inspiration struck.

“C’mon, get up,” he ordered as he stood.

When Derek furrowed those expressive eyebrows of his in confusion, he grabbed the man’s arm to force him on his feet. A lot of good that did because the guy was heavy! “C’mon, get up,” he repeated.

“Why? What are you doing?” Likely annoyed with the incessant tugging, Derek finally rose.

“Being your white rabbit.” Stiles smirked smugly. See, he could be clever! He kept his grip on his companion’s sleeve, and pulled the man along to the main entrance. When they made it outside into the warm night air, and when he was sure Derek wouldn’t bolt, he let go.

They walked around the block and had started to head south on Wilshire before Derek stopped. “You going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

Stiles huffed and backtracked, grabbing a hold of the man’s arm again. “Not far. Trust me. I saw it when I drove in earlier, and had to loop around the block.”

Dragging Derek along, and dodging happy, smiley passersby, it took longer than he’d originally anticipated. But several minutes later, they made it.

“Gelato?”

Stiles nodded, a big smile of triumph on his face as he took in the relatively busy storefront. “It’s not ice cream, like my mom would’ve endorsed, but it’ll do.”

And there was that look on Derek’s face again, the one that labelled Stiles as either weird or crazy. Not that it mattered. Either way, he was determined to own it.

“C’mon, it’ll make you feel better. Promise. And my treat.”

Without waiting for a response, he pulled Derek into the line. The man could’ve turned around and left at any time – Stiles wasn’t pulling hard – but he didn’t, and that was a good sign. The queue moved fairly quickly, the other customers chatting around in their usual laid back Californian fashion, and they got their orders without much indecision – lemon for Derek, and a double order of pistachio and chocolate for Stiles because that combo was delicious. 

When it came time to pay, Stiles kept his promise, managing to beat Derek to the draw when the man began to pull out his wallet. The stunned look Derek gave him at the gesture almost broke his heart. Had no one ever treated the guy to anything before? Was he the one always footing the bill? Wait, did people hang around him for the money? Did he have any real friends?

Stiles’ mind was starting to make outrageous connections and conclusions again, and he had to consciously rein in his errant thoughts.

“Walk back as we eat?” he suggested as he shoveled a big scoop of sugary goodness into his mouth. And oh, shit … brain freeze. He scrunched his face to wait out the sensation.

Derek nodded, and the small uptick of his lips indicated amusement at Stiles’ childish behavior. Score one for immaturity!

They made their way back to the hotel with Stiles providing most of the conversation, nonsensical topics about the other people on the streets and the stores they passed. Derek contributed the occasional grunt or word, but otherwise, let his mouth go unchecked. The warm, Californian evening was the perfect accompaniment to their impromptu dessert, and Stiles finished his gelato by the time the main entrance came into view. How he did that when he’d been talking non-stop and Derek was still working away on his … well, it was a gift. He tossed his garbage into the nearby waste container when they arrived at the doors. 

“So…” he started slowly, shifting his weight a bit from the balls of his feet to the heels. “I guess this is it. If you don’t need me for anything else, I guess I’m done for the night.”

Derek looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable, melting gelato in his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” 

It got awkward again. Stiles thought there would be a little more to this goodbye, but he’d learned by now that Derek was a man of few words. He might as well start. “Okay … then…” He stuck out his hand. “Nice doing business wit – No, nice meeting you? Or … I don’t know. How am I supposed to end this thing?”

Derek stared at his hand as if it was some alien appendage, but he eventually shook it. “Nice to meet you too,” he said. And if there was a bit of disappointment tainting the tone, it was probably all in Stiles’ imagination.

Stiles gave him on final nod, and turned to walk away before he embarrassed himself even more by overstaying his welcome when Derek’s rushed ‘Hey’ stopped him. 

Stiles looked over his shoulder, waiting. Sure, Derek was the strong, silent type, but it certainly seemed like he was struggling for words. Then, “Thanks for tonight. You were right. I did need it.”

Stiles grinned, sure there was a glint of self-satisfaction in his eyes. “I’m usually right,” he bragged. “But you’re welcome.” He really walked away then, proud of himself and the awesome job he’d done at being a great fake date. And if there was this inexplicable bit of sadness and disappointment that stalked his good mood, it was probably attributed to the fact that he wouldn’t find such a sweet gig again. Really, that must be it. Not … anything else. 

Now, for another problem: how did one look natural getting an old bakery delivery van out of valet parking…?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! Hope you're enjoying this story so far. For this chapter, I'm shoehorning the theme of 'Medieval' in. Hopefully, it's not too jarring.
> 
> Themes tackled so far (for bingo): Fake Relationship, Mistaken Identity, Baking  
> Themes this chapter: Medieval
> 
> I think I have one more day to squeeze maybe one or two more themes in the next chapter. Fingers crossed!
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> K.

The non-stop buzzing was what woke him.

Stiles turned over with a groan, and pulled the pillow over his head, hoping the poly-fill would block out the noise. That, or maybe suffocate him. He didn’t care which, as long as he got a couple more hours of sleep.

His phone buzzed again. No luck.

“Fu—uck!” he drawled grumpily as he tossed the pillow aside. He reached blindly toward the nightstand, his hand grasping air twice before finding his phone. By the time he brought it to his face, some of the sleep-induced blurriness had left his vision, and he could make out the digital display.

First off, it wasn’t even seven yet! His shift at the bakery didn’t start until ten, so he still had at least one more prime sleeping hour left. And second, there were over twenty text messages from Lydia. He loved the former object of his affections – or obsession, depending on who was asking – but curse her and her three-hour Eastern time zone advantage!

There was an onslaught of exclamation marks interspersed with a few ‘WTHs’, which Stiles was at a loss to understand. Then, near the bottom of the one-side conversation, he saw a picture. It was him, in his costume from last night, laughing, with Derek. Derek was angled the other way so the camera hadn’t captured his expression at the time, just his back, but Stiles was pretty sure the photo had been taken right after their entrance and he’d made that joke about the Knave of Hearts. They were still standing close to each other, their hands interlocked, so there was no doubt to the outside observer that they were together.

Well, shit, there was actual photographic evidence that he did make a pretty good fake date. He should seriously consider making this into a business.

Lydia had also sent a link to the source – some gossip site he’d only vaguely heard of – and was just skimming the part about him being some ‘mysterious new guy’ in the renowned Hale family’s sphere when Lydia sent another text.

‘CALL ME!’

All caps. That did not bode well. When Lydia Martin, high school valedictorian, soon-to-be MIT alumni about to graduate summa cum laude, Rhodes scholar candidate, and literal goddess asked you to call her, you called.

“How the hell did you find my picture in the deep, dark corners of the web in under the twelve hours since it’s been taken?” he asked without preamble the moment she picked up. Once upon a time, he would’ve been gobsmacked at even being allowed to say ‘hi’ to Lydia. But all those years of worshipping the ground she’d walked on came to a head in high school when cutthroat, academic competition and an intense, partnered chemistry project had revealed they were really compatible friends. Like lock and key, peanut butter and jelly compatible. And for that discovery, Stiles was immensely grateful. He couldn’t imagine his life without Lydia in it now.

“Shut up, Stiles. I’m asking the questions here.”

Stiles swallowed, fighting the urge to burrow under his covers. “Yes, ma’am.”

“So, when did you start dating one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, and why didn’t you tell me?”

It was almost reflex to spill on the adventure he’d had last night, but just as he opened his mouth to answer, he remembered the NDA he’d signed. Surely, that didn’t include Lydia, right? Still, as much confidence as he had in Lydia’s ability to navigate the legal system, he didn’t want to risk it. “I don’t know, Lyds, it just happened. Right place at the right time, I guess.”

He could almost imagine his friend rolling her eyes. “That’s not an answer, Stiles.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“Details!”

Stiles made an exasperated sound. If he seemed like he was reluctant to talk about it, maybe Lydia would buy his story. “Fine. You know how I’m working the summer at a bakery, right? Well, Derek came in one day to put in a catering order, and just happened to steal a tart from a tray I was putting away when I wasn’t looking. I accused him of being a tart thief, and we hit it off, okay?” There. Truth mixed with fiction had a better chance of being believable.

The silence that came from the other end of the line was, simply put, scary. But Lydia eventually did put him out of his misery. “Okay. Trust you to have some cavity-inducing meet-cute.”

Stiles sagged into the mattress with relief. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“But hey, Stiles, I say this as someone who cares. Be careful. I know not to put too much stock in the gossip sites, but if there’s even a grain of truth to them, Derek Hale changes partners like I change shoes. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Stiles waved off the warning. Having that bit of insider information about Derek and his penchant for hiring dates made it easier to do so, though it did nothing for the odd mix of curiosity and sadness it piqued as to why the guy had to do it. “I’ll be fine, Lyds. We’re just keeping it casual for now.” Super casual, as in he’ll probably never see the guy again, much to his disappointment.

“If you say so.” Stiles didn’t miss the skepticism in his friend’s voice. “But keep me updated, and call me if you need anything, okay?”

Stiles smiled, wishing he could tell his sixteen-year-old self that the Lydia Martin was worried for his welfare. “You got it. You’ll be the first one I call. God knows, Scott wouldn’t be much help in this department.”

“I never had any doubt there,” Lydia stated plainly. “Anyways, have to go. Need to assert my authority over some research assistants.”

“Terrorize, more like. But, thanks, Lyds. For everything.”

They said their goodbyes, and once he got off the phone, he stared up at the speckled ceiling, not wanting to get out of bed just yet. For a moment, he indulged himself in a daydream. What would it have been like if last night had been real? He’d dated on and off during the last three years in college, but nothing serious, and definitely not anyone in Derek’s league. The man was the silent, broody type, to be sure, but he imagined that underneath that crunchy, hard exterior was a soft, gooey center. And physically… umm, well, yeah. He could almost feel Derek’s mouth, hungry and bruising, against his, the texture of his trimmed stubble sliding roughly along the sensitive skin of his throat, and his fingers, seductively tracing their way down, down to – 

Stiles gave himself a mental shake. With the direction his thoughts were taking, he wasn’t surprised to find himself getting hard. Spinning fantasies about hot guys tended to do that, and he supposed it was harmless enough as long as he kept it to the confines of his mind. But, as he reached into the bedside nightstand for some lube, he reminded himself that this would be as far as it went. He’d had his one Cinderella moment last night, complete with a fairy god-Erica, and after he jerked off, it was back to being regular, aimless Stiles in his regular, aimless world.

(***)

Early morning call with Lydia aside, the day progressed like any other. The bakery, as always, saw a constant stream of traffic, but with him and Greenberg hired on as extra help in the front, Molly had more time to fill extra custom orders in the back. Stiles enjoyed the job. Along with being a great baker, Molly was a great employer as well, trusting and lenient with her two summertime employees. And he couldn’t complain about the extra perks of having first dibs at the day-olds. 

Greenberg had had the early shift, and their time overlapped until the lunch rush died down. At 2 P.M. on the dot, Greenberg darted out of there like the place was on fire, and an hour later, after putting in a twelve-hour shift, Molly called it quits too. That left Stiles to finish his shift alone, and close up for the day.

Aside from the occasional walk-in or phone-in order, nothing much happened in the late afternoons anyways, so Stiles usually amused himself by rearranging the displays (with the obligatory clean-up, of course). He was just wiping down the counter from an unfortunate cream puff mishap when his phone buzzed. He didn’t check it at first, opting to finish wiping the cream off the glass counter instead, because he was responsible like that. But his phone buzzed again a minute later, and feeling that all trace of the gruesome profiterole murder had been eliminated, he slid his cell out of his back pocket.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting – a text from Scott or Lydia or even his dad maybe – but he definitely could not have anticipated the contents of the texts from an unknown number.

‘Erica here. Free tonight? 7:30.’

‘Nvm. Ur free. I say so. Sending tux to your place. Gala at Natural History Museum. Be ready. Car pick up at 7.’

Stiles read, and re-read the messages, looking for any indication that they might’ve been sent in error. Or, maybe he’d stroked out and was actually sprawled out unconscious on the bakery floor.

Nope.

Everything seemed legit. He checked the time. He wasn’t off for another hour, but luckily, he lived nearby, so he wouldn’t have to contend with the painful L.A. traffic. All things considered, he would get home with at least an hour to spare.

There wasn’t any doubt in his mind as to whether he was taking the job tonight. Hell yeah, he was. And that little flutter of excitement in the pit of his stomach? Well, that was from getting another opportunity to earn some good money, and definitely not from the prospect of seeing a certain dark and broody individual.

(***)

The car came exactly at seven, which, along with the well-fitted tux that had been waiting for him when he’d gotten home, made Stiles wonder if Erica was being paid enough for her scary efficiency. He gave the shiny town car a quick once-over, from the polished black paint to the dark tinted windows, and tried to act all nonchalant about it. As much as he loved his old jeep, this was what came to mind when he thought about the glamorous Hollywood lifestyle and red carpets and stuff. He had to admit that this was pretty cool, living out scenes he’d only seen in shows and movies like this.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wait for the driver or not, so he took the initiative and slipped into the backseat. What startled him as he landed on the soft leather was the extra body already sitting inside.

“Uh, hi,” he said, wide-eyed and awkward. Oh, and so many types of awkward too. This was the guy he’d jerked off to just twelve hours ago, after all. “I wasn’t expecting you to be in the car. Thought we’d be meeting at the museum.”

Derek watched silently as he closed the door and got comfortable, eyes just pinpricks of reflected streetlights in the dark interior of the car. “Had to give you this.” He held out a plain white envelope, which Stiles stared at dumbly. “Your deposit for the night. That’s the usual arrangement, right? Pre-payment, and the rest electronically transferred afterwards?”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah, thanks.” Taking the money right then made him feel as he did yesterday when he’d done it – a little dirty. Still, he slipped the payment into his inner pocket, and he could practically feel the weight of Derek’s steady gaze as he did so.

“I didn’t think you would be available on a Friday night.” Derek spoke up after the car started moving, his voice sounding abnormally loud in the sudden quiet.

Stiles tried to make out the expression of his companion under the intermittent glow of the passing streetlights, but all he could see was the outline of the man’s profile. He shrugged, trying to act casual. If he thought about it, he should be flattered that Derek would view him – plain, old Stiles – as someone in high demand. “Yeah, I had a conflict with Mr. Switch, Mr. PS, and Ms. X-Box, but I worked it out.”

“So, you really didn’t have any other clients tonight?”

Was that genuine surprise he heard in Derek’s voice? And perhaps a little… vulnerability? Stiles didn’t know what to make of it. What he did know was that he wasn’t too fond of being thought of as some glorified escort. “Look, I’m not really that type of guy,” he stated honestly. He didn’t know why, but he would prefer Derek didn’t think badly of him. “I’m just a student with a regular day job, trying to make some extra money.”

If his little tirade was out of line, Derek made no mention of it. Instead, after several resounding heartbeats, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Stiles eased back into his seat, and glanced out the window at the blur of passing cars along the freeway. He hadn’t expected the apology, but in a way, it was nice to hear it. Derek seemed like a nice guy, gruff exterior and all. “You didn’t. Don’t worry about it. I just don’t like people making the wrong assumptions of me. Had enough of that in high school.”

“Noted.”

A lazy smile slid its way onto Stiles’ face. Look at them, having a proper conversation. This felt like a baby step along their evolution as a fake couple. “So…” he drawled, giving Derek a sidelong glance. “What’s the deal tonight? A fancy gala, huh? Are we doing the same thing as last night? Walk in together, do our own thing, and then leave together?”

Derek didn’t answer right away, as if he himself wasn’t even sure what they were supposed to do. “We should probably stick with each other tonight,” he finally replied. “The Hale Foundation is one of the main sponsors for the new exhibit so this invitation was a courtesy. I’m supposed to represent the company. We probably won’t know many people there.”

Stiles made a contemplative sound. “Fair enough.” He could do that. After all, they’d gotten gelato together, which would make them practically buddies, right? Or, that’s how he was choosing to look at it. Otherwise, he’d be completely tripped up by the stupid physically attraction he was feeling for the guy. See, who said he didn’t have good coping mechanisms?

With that decided, he relaxed a bit more, some of the tension he didn’t know he was holding just slipping away. And that allowed him to do what he did best: talk. Growing up, people had asked him if he would ever run out of things to talk about, and frankly, he didn’t know. It hadn’t happened yet. Like right now, he talked about the video games he’d originally planning to crack open tonight, and the neighbor he’d caught trying to climb into her condo through the window because she’d forgotten her keys inside, and the homicidal cream puff that had tried to attack him at work. It was all the usual stuff, and Derek didn’t react much other than giving him the occasional raised brow, which he simply took as encouragement to just keep going. Before he knew it, they’d arrived at their destination.

Stiles had only driven by the museum a few times – once when he’d come to check out USC across the street as a prospective college option – but he’d never been inside before. The building had been non-descript from what he’d seen of it, nothing with the grandeur of the ones he remembered from New York, but as he and Derek walked around to the east entrance, where all the pomp and circumstance was tonight, he revised his opinion. That entrance was quite impressive, with its classical arches and finely carved columns, and Stiles had no doubt that the domed section they were entering would be as impressive inside as it was outside.

There was a short line of three other guests in front of them when they arrived at the doors, all dressed in fancy suits and sparkly dresses, so they waited patiently to be checked in. Stiles slipped his hand into Derek’s, interlocking their fingers, as they inched along. He’d assumed that this part would mirror last night – the making an entrance as a couple thing – and when Derek gave him a small squeeze back, warm and solid against his palm, he took his assumption to be correct.

“Hale. Oh, I have a Laura Hale on my list, sir,” the woman at the door noted as she took the invitation Derek handed over and checked her tablet.

“My sister. She couldn’t make it tonight. I’m here in her place,” Derek answered easily.

“Of course. Thank you. Enjoy your evening, sir.” She waved them through with a polite smile. And just like that, they were in.

“Okay, this is pretty cool.” Stiles looked up and around the massive rotunda as they entered. He was pretty sure gaping like a fish in a formal gathering like this wasn’t in any etiquette book, but he didn’t care. Tall, marble columns, lit up gold by the warm yellow lights, encircled the large open space that exposed a second-floor landing around the whole rotunda, and vaulted right up to the tessellated dome roof. Small tables with smooth, black cloths dotted the area in a random pattern, all leading to an impressive bronze statue of what Stiles guessed was supposed to be three Grecian muses in the center.

Wanting a closer look at the statue, he pulled Derek along, and Derek, to his credit, followed without protest. On the way, he snagged a program from atop one of the tables. Forewarned was fore armed, and all that, so he thought it prudent to at least give the thing a cursory read. 

He’d spent the better part of his childhood and teenage years either delving into too many books, or diving into the bowels of too many websites. With a museum this size, he was pretty much a lost cause. His tendency to gravitate toward every shiny thing within spitting distance was going to make his supposed job tonight difficult.

“You’re going to have to hold me back,” he leaned in and whispered to Derek after he’d gotten his fill of the statue. Hmm, the guy smelled nice. Go figure. “I get distracted easily, and there’s a footnote in the program that says the exhibits are open to the party guests tonight for private viewing, so …”

“We can check them out if you want.”

Stiles pulled back, wariness tempering his excitement. “Really? Don’t you have to stick around for all the speeches and stuff. Or, at the very least, the ‘light refreshments’ the program promised?”

Derek looked around at their surroundings dismissively and gave a small shrug. “They won’t miss me. It’s not as if there won’t be one of these types of things next week, and they’re all the same thing.”

A tendril of suspicion crept through Stiles. If Derek wouldn’t be missed, then why did they even show up here in the first place? Still, his curiosity about the exhibits won out, and with a mischievous slant to his grin, he continued on into the building, Derek in tow.

“Okay, what first?” He grabbed a brochure map from a kiosk as soon as they made it to the made lobby, and started flipping through. “This place it huge, but it’ll be neat to check the exhibits out without any crowds around.”

“You choose.”

Stiles arched a doubtful brow at the response, unsure if Derek was testing him or something. Wasn’t he the one being paid here tonight? Didn’t that mean he was basically Derek’s employee, which effectively made Derek his boss? The man’s expression revealed nothing – surprise, surprise – just a neutral set of handsome features.

Fine then. His choice. “We might as well check out the new exhibit your company sponsored. That’s what we’re here for anyways, right?” He flipped over to the gala program he still had in hand. “Medieval Treasures…” he read slowly. “Looks like a collection on loan from the British Museum. Cool.”

So decided, he flipped his map around, and marched his way over to the feature exhibit hall like a man with a mission. It wasn’t difficult to find, but like he’d noted earlier, the place was huge! It just took a while to get there. But when they did make it, Stiles was off.

Curated displays with informational placards were sort of like catnip for his eager mind. And the mix of historical artifacts with modern, interactive media appealed to both the adult and the child in him. He was off, darting from a life-size diorama of the Second Crusade to a media station that had a documentary looping, narrated by a voice that sounded distinctly like Richard Attenborough. It wasn’t until he’d finished reading about a suit of armor that had actually been worn at the Battle of Agincourt that he realized he had no idea where Derek had gone. Or rather, where he’d left him because Stiles knew he usually moved super-fast through these things. He retraced his steps, and found his date slowly moving through a series of glass display cases that protected a spectacular arrangement of jewelry.

“You know, she managed to win the hearts of two kings,” he said as he approached. “No surprise her collection was so big.”

Derek looked up from the placard he’d been reading. “Who?”

Stiles inclined his head toward the display. “Eleanor of Aquitaine. The original owner of all this. She was married to the King of France, then Henry II sees her, falls in love, and asks her to marry him. And what does she do? She gets a divorce – err, sorry, an annulment, never mind that she already had two kids with Louis – so she could follow the man she loves back to England, where she becomes the mom of Richard the Lionheart. Yup, that Richard… of Robin Hood fame. Pretty awesome for a woman living in the twelfth century.”

“Yeah, pretty awesome,” Derek repeated dully. Then, he tapped the information placard. “But it says here that Henry eventually got tired of her, and put her in prison. So, the great romantic love story you just described was pretty much just a couple of people wanting to get laid without being condemned by the church. Nothing more.”

Stiles pursed his lips, and gave Derek a hooded, judgemental glare. “Well, aren’t you just the life of the party,” he deadpanned. “People change, but it doesn’t mean that the feelings they had during that time weren’t real. You don’t believe in love? Like Princess Bride true love?”

Derek made a sound that could be best described as a humorless laugh. A scoff, maybe? “Love is something created by corporations to make money. They sell you an illusion, a dream, so you’ll flock out and buy the exotic flowers, those fancy chocolates, or that expensive ring. A pure, monetized fantasy. I should know. My family owns one of those corporations.”

In the short time he’d known Derek, that was the most Stiles had heard the guy speak. He wasn’t sure how to react exactly. He was stunned, but on the other hand, he was a little sad that, of all the things Derek felt strongly about, it was this. Sure, he was a realist himself. He knew that the fairy tale, Disney happily-ever-after was more fiction than non-fiction, but he liked to believe some form of it existed out there. He’d seen how much his parents had loved each other, and while he had also witnessed what that love did to his dad when they’d lost Mom, growing up surrounded by it – however short the time – was something he cherished. He wanted to know where Derek’s opinion had come from, and on any regular day, and with anyone else, he might’ve asked. But right here, right now, with Derek, it didn’t feel like it was his place to do so.

“Hmm, someone is a love grinch, aren’t they?” he teased instead. Sarcasm and humor, those always worked. “You might want to work on growing that heart of yours a couple of sizes bigger.”

Derek looked away, seemingly contrite. “Hey, I didn’t mean to unload like that. Don’t get me wrong. I know physical attraction exists, so there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the moment. Just not …”

Stiles waited for the end of the sentence, but it didn’t come. “True love,” he supplied. Geez, it was like the guy was deathly allergic to the words or something. But he could accept it. It wasn’t as if they were in a relationship where they had to declare their undying love to each other or anything. “Okay, well, I can respect that. To each his own, I suppose.” Having enough of the topic, he waved in the general direction of the last half of the exhibit. “Let’s keep going. I thought I saw a play castle up ahead for the kids, but I say screw all age restrictions. If there are foam swords involved, I will stab a bitch to use them.”

Without waiting to see if Derek would follow, he retraced his steps toward the last half of the exhibit, and proved that his skills of observation and recall were impeccable … as always. A miniature model castle had been set up, tucked up against one side of a replica feudal village, complete with ramparts and a drawbridge. The whole thing had obviously been arranged for children, and Stiles knew he’d have to crouch the whole time if he went in, but whatever. There was indeed a basket full of foam swords and plastic shields! He was _not_ passing up this chance to make the eight-year old in him happy.

Grabbing a fake weapon, he turned and stabbed his trailing date in the stomach. Of course, the foam bent like a spoon off The Matrix against what was probably a six-pack, but that didn’t stop him from shouting out in triumph at having gutted his pretend opponent. Derek was staring at him with that patented ‘WTF?’ look again, but then, without warning, he grabbed the sword from Stiles’ hand, and started a return attack.

Luckily for Stiles, all those countless hours of building and defending a fort against Scott in his living room had prepared him for just this occasion. Working off reflex, he dodged the sword swipe and darted into the castle. It was a tight squeeze but he managed to wiggle through, and make his way up the narrow stairs and onto a small turret.

He looked down with a huge smile, ready to gloat about his awesome cat-like reflexes. Only, Derek wasn’t down on the exhibit floor where he’d left him. He checked behind him, at the stairs. Nothing.

“Derek?” A small, disappointed part of him wondered if the man had gotten tired of his immature antics and had left. That would suck. And that would sort of … kind of … hurt. “Derek?” he called out again.

It was a good thing they basically had the whole exhibit to themselves because had there been any other noise around him, he might’ve missed the muffled curse coming from the bottom of the stairs. Squeezing his way back down, he found the source of the swearing, and tried his hardest not to laugh. He failed.

He bent over in uncontrollable laughter, tears coming from his eyes, at the picture of Derek wedge in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, his head and one shoulder on one side, and the other half of him on the other. 

“Oh, my fucking God, Derek, are you stuck?” He had to wipe the tears away, and try to sober up enough to speak. “How the…? Never mind. You obviously have never missed a pecs or traps day at the gym.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing grumpily. Could eyebrows be grumpy? Now that was a philosophical question for the ages. “You going to help me?”

Still fighting small bouts of laughter, Stiles moved closer. “Well, first, let’s make sure you’re not armed.” He deliberately exaggerated the removal of the foam sword from the hand that had made it through the doorway.

“Fuck, seriously?”

Stiles almost stuck out his tongue. “Hey, you want my help or not?”

“Well, did it occur to you that while I’m stuck here, you’re stuck in there?”

Damn, that was a good point. He let out a conceding breath. “Fine.” He shifted to one side of the opening, searching for some spare space. “You know, if you’d angled yourself right, you would’ve fit.”

He got an eye roll as a response.

“But if you can drop down a little, you can start to wriggle yourself out. Like, just all your body weight pushing down.”

Derek grunted, and tried to do as instructed. He budged, but only a fraction of an inch.

“Okay, that’s something,” Stiles said encouragingly. “I’m just going to … “ Without further explanation, he reached over, placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and pushed. The trapped man realized what he was doing, and put his weight into it as well. And the warm ghosting of Derek’s breath across the sensitive skin of his neck? He did _not_ find that sexy, and it did _not_ turn him on … much.

After another minute of wriggling, Derek finally dislodged himself, and the two of them fell to the ground in two unceremonious heaps. Stiles couldn’t stop grinning though. The situation had been hilarious.

“Okay, that was fun,” he huffed with an amused chuckle.

“We need to work on your definition of fun.”

“Well, you sure know how to show a guy a good time then.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and waited as Derek did the same. What a sight they must’ve made, two grown men with their now-rumpled tuxes sitting on the floor of a play castle. Not that he was complaining. The fancy suits and elite events were cool in theory, but getting dirty and bruised because he and coordination had a hate-hate relationship, that was more his thing. “Bet you woo all your dates by playing the damsel in distress,” he threw out jokingly. And yet, the thought of Derek doing things like this with someone else caused an odd tightening sensation in his chest. 

Feet still on the grown, Derek raised his knees up, and rested his forearms casually on them, his gaze on something outside the doorway in front of them. “Hardly.”

Stiles watched Derek carefully for a moment, taking in that strong profile, defined jawline, and closed expression. There was something about him, some inexplicable quality about the man that piqued Stiles’ interest. Derek was reserved, definitely, but sometimes, there were glimpses of something else in him, moments of insecurity and vulnerability, moments when someone paid for his gelato and when he said thank you, that hinted at another person beneath that implacable mask. It was as baffling as it was intriguing. And Stiles … curious, curious Stiles could never resist a bit of intrigue.

“My best friend, Scott, and I used to build pillow forts in my living room when we were little. We did the whole mock sword fighting thing all the time. We would’ve killed to have a mini-castle like this,” he supplied in the way of conversation. He wasn’t sure what his point was, but he figured if he started talking – more – then maybe Derek would eventually start to share as well. That would be step one in his quest to figure the guy out.

“Sounds fun,” was all Derek said.

“Oh, it was. Or it was until the ‘Great Throwing Star Debacle of ’08’.”

Derek raised a brow, as if knowing Stiles was going to elaborate without encouragement, but going through the motions anyways.

“My dad had just done some spring cleaning, and had thrown out a box of old CDs. I rescued them because I was pretty sure Scott and I could use them for something. Then, one day, when Scott was defending the fort against my attack, he decided to use them as throwing stars. And yours truly is probably a D, maybe a C+ at best, at dodging flying projectiles. So, guess who got his head sliced open?” Stiles pointed his two thumbs at himself. “Yup, this guy. An emergency room visit, and four stitches later, we decided that defending forts was too dangerous a past time, and we retired the pillows. But I still have the battle scars!” He proudly pulled back a few wayward strands to show off the thin, white line along his hairline.

Derek looked at the scar, and gave him a small head shake. “Between that and eating weeks old bacon, how did you manage to survive to adulthood?”

“With nothing but my wits, and a whole lot of dumb luck,” he answered slyly, not missing a beat. “And I guess it helped having Scotty watch my back. Still BFFs, even if he tried to kill me with a CD.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at Derek’s lips, and while Stiles normally would’ve considered that display of emotion a win, there was a wistful quality about it that didn’t sit right. It was like …

The realization hit Stiles with the force of a two-ton truck. He remembered his train of thought last night when he’d bought Derek the gelato, the passing mental remark about no one having ever treated the guy to anything, or rather, no true friend. And tonight, Derek had taken his sister’s invitation to attend an event he didn’t really care about … with him.

Holy shit, the guy was lonely, whether he was aware of it or not. And for some reason, Stiles had become an ad-hoc friend – and a paid-for one, at that. This was both heartbreaking and sad. He couldn’t just let epiphany go. He had to do something. Derek deserved so much more.

Resolved, he pushed himself up, and held out a hand to Derek. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Derek gave the offered hand a puzzled look, but he took it and rose without protest. “Go where? Back to the gala?”

“Nah, you hungry?”

The man nodded, confusion still written on his face. “I could eat.”

“Cool, I’m feeling like some deep-fried goodness tonight.”

(***)

One thing about L.A. was that there was never a shortage of good old-fashioned greasy diner joints. It didn’t take long to find a retro-looking diner ten minutes away, just off the 110. It took even less time for Stiles to drag Derek, fancy tux and all, from the car into the black and white floor-tiled restaurant, and onto the red vinyl bench of a booth in the back. The server that came by with their menus, a young woman who looked like a student working a summer job, just like Stiles, didn’t even blink an eye at their get-up. But this was Los Angeles, after all. There was a crazy number of characters in this city, and Stiles supposed that she’d probably seen her fair share.

They ordered right away – because Stiles was starving – and when it was just them again, he sat back and pulled out the envelope of cash that was still tucked in his inner jacket pocket. He placed it onto the laminate table surface and slid it across to his companion. Derek stared at the thing like it would bite him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and while his expression didn’t change from its usual unreadable mask, there was a slight waver in his voice that betrayed what he must’ve been feeling.

“Your payment. I’m giving it back. First off, we didn’t really stay the whole time, and second, I’m changing the terms of our arrangement.”

“Changing? Why? If this is about tonight’s incident – ”

Stiles cut him off by pushing the envelope even closer to the other man. “No, nothing like that. It just so happens that I’ve got a Stiles Stilinski special going on this summer. Pay for one fake date, and get a friend for the summer.”

“What?” 

Stiles ignored the habitual ‘you’re crazy’ look he got. He was so used to it now. “Yeah, you know, someone to hang with. I’ll have you know that my friend services are top-notch. And they’re free!”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. I’m stuck in SoCal over the summer, and really have no one to hang with. Now, I know you’re some uber-busy business guy running a whole company and all, but everyone needs to blow off steam sometime. And I’m offering to be your partner-in-crime, your wingman, your bro.” Something inside him tightened at the offer, because he had rather liked being the object of Derek’s affections, even if it was just pretend, but he dismissed the uncomfortable feeling as part of his growing hunger. “Here, give me your phone.” He held out his hand, and kept it there until Derek did as he asked.

The phone eventually ended up on his palm, unlocked, though Derek’s steady gaze never left his. Stiles took it all in stride. He usually did. He quickly flipped the cell around, added his number in, and texted himself. “There, now you can message me when you want to hang. And I can do the same. I’ll start. You busy tomorrow? I’ve got the early shift at work tomorrow, so was planning to maybe head up to the hills afterwards, and do a late afternoon hike. Wanna join? I could use the company.”

Derek took his phone back, silent and appearing somewhat shell-shocked. Stiles had that effect on people sometimes. But he was totally unashamed of it. “Okay, well, you don’t have to decide now. Just, if you want to hang tomorrow, text me.”

Stiles took the small nod he got as agreement. He wasn’t sure if it was a victory or not though. On one hand, he was happy that he could be that friend that Derek seemed to desperately need right now. But on the other, what kind of friend was he to jerk off to fantasies about the guy? Oh, this was becoming the story of his life: to worship beauty from afar with unrequited longing. His obsession with Lydia had lasted almost a whole decade before they’d become true friends; he wondered how long before he got there with Derek.

Luckily, he didn’t wonder long. Their food came just then, and having practically wasted away to shadow of his former self from starvation, Stiles dove right in. And if he started to pick extra curly fries off Derek’s plate… well, that’s what friends were for, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Note  
> Regarding artifacts of Eleanor of Aquitaine: There are actually no known surviving artifacts that have been owned by her in present day, except for a rock crystal vase that she gifted her first husband, and that is currently in a collection at the Louvre in Paris. The jewelry collection that Derek is looking at is completely fictional, so for the purposes of this chapter, there was a bit of historical license taken by yours truly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> Crossing off another theme for bingo: Hollywood.
> 
> That said, because this is the last day of the event, I'll probably slow down the posting frequency to something more sustainable, so I can finish this story with a proper time to edit. :)
> 
> As well, please accept my heartfelt thanks for all your comments on the previous chapter. There's quite a few, so I thought I'd express my gratitude here to save a bit of time. You all are so sweet, and I certainly appreciate them.
> 
> Anyways, onward.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Cheers,  
> K.

Stiles glanced down at his phone with a sigh. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking last night when he’d invited Derek to join him. He leaned back against his jeep, and watched the crowds – families and couples and runners and hikers – milling about the walkway up to Griffith Observatory, and around the various trailheads. It was a great afternoon to be outside, bright and sunny now that the smog had burned off, with a light breeze. He’d come up here quite a few times since he’d moved down for hikes and runs, and had enjoyed it. But this wasn’t Derek’s scene. And really, why would he walk aimlessly around the Hollywood hills with some random guy he’d met just two days ago? For all Derek knew, Stiles could be some smart, charismatic serial killer luring him into a false sense of security before introducing him to a kill room. Yeah, Stiles wouldn’t take himself up on that offer either, now that he thought about it.

3:45.

He’d texted Derek in the morning that he’d plan to go at 3:30, and had sent his GPS location over twenty minutes ago. He’d waited, just in case, but Derek wasn’t coming. He stuffed his phone back in a pocket of his cargo shorts, somewhat dejected. He knew it was a long shot, knew Derek was likely more turned off than on by his rambling and weird antics. After all, why would the guy want to spend a beautiful Saturday afternoon with him when he probably had some pretty cool options in his own shiny, glamorous world? Still, he couldn’t stop that pit of disappointment from forming in his stomach.

Oh well, rejection was nothing new.

He straightened, turned, grabbed a water from his car, and quickly stuff it into his daypack. He might as well start his hike, or he wouldn’t get back before the sun set. Locking his jeep, and tucking his keys securely into his bag as well – because yes, he was _that_ person who would probably drop them on the trail if he wasn’t careful – he started off.

He’d made it about ten steps before he saw a familiar figure jogging toward him. And the flutter of excitement he felt at seeing Derek there … with him? He wasn’t sure what that was. Or maybe he did. Because hot damn, the guy was just as gorgeous in leisure clothes as he was in formal wear.

The light blue V-neck did wonders for the man’s shoulders and chest, clinging to the solid muscles in all the right places and hanging slightly loose around a narrowed waist. Khaki colored pants, made of some light, technical material Stiles couldn’t identify, fitted Derek perfectly, hugging his thighs and – Stiles assumed, since he couldn’t see from the front – his ass in a way that just invited touch. Yeah, like he’d said, what had he been thinking? He couldn’t deny his attraction to the guy. Spending extra time with him would only make it worse, like locking him in a room with a box full of crispy bacon, and telling him he couldn’t have any.

Then, Derek gave him a breathless ‘sorry’, looking all apologetic and worried, more open and readable than Stiles had ever seen him, and he was a goner. He was such a masochist.

“It’s all good,” he said jovially, probably too jovially. God, he was so lame. “Glad you could join.”

Derek shrugged, and strangely, not making any eye contact. “Had some time. Just couldn’t find parking.”

“Yeah, it can get crowded, especially when the weather’s good.” Oh, that was smooth – so smooth. Talking about the weather? Really? Stiles gave himself a mental slap. “We should get going though. I was thinking maybe an out-and-back, and want to finish before it gets dark. Probably a couple hours tops. You game?”

“Lead the way.” Derek nodded, and if Stiles wasn’t imagining things, there was a relieved set to his features. Wait, had Derek, hot-as-hell, most-eligible-bachelor-in-the-country Derek, actually been scared that Stiles would leave without him? Well, that would’ve been a major steroid shot for his ego if he didn’t feel like most gawky kid at the party. And yet, Derek stepped aside, and waved him by. “Lead the way.”

And so, sucking up his insecurities, Stiles did.

(***)

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from the excursion when he’d first invited Derek along, but he had to admit that it was going way better than his initial doubts had let on. Between Derek’s reserved nature, and Stiles’ … umm … less reserved one, an hour went by in a surprisingly comfortable fashion. After Stiles’ own downward spiral of awkwardness, they’d settled into what was becoming their usual pattern, with Stiles being his nonsensical, chatty self, and Derek – bless his soul – somehow just listening.

There was something different in their dynamic now as they climbed the well-hiked trails under the hot, Californian sun, something a little more relax and natural. Maybe it was because they had gotten rid of the pretense of their fake relationship, or maybe it was because he’d taken away the shadow of their monetary transaction. Whatever it was, Stiles was careful not to unbalance it. Before long, they passed by a series of radio antennas that made Stiles pause.

“What? What is it?”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at his hiking partner, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips as well as what was certainly a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wanna walk off the beaten path?” he asked enigmatically.

For once, Derek didn’t give him the full-on ‘WTF’ glare. This time, it was tempered with a dash of trepidation. “Do I even want to know?”

“Only if you don’t trust me. C’mon.” And with that, he veered off the walking path, and down the dusty slope of the hill.

“Did you forget? We just met. Trust takes time,” Derek grumbled from behind, but a glance back told Stiles the man had followed anyways.

A chain link fence sat not too far down, and when he hit it, he barely stopped to assess his way forward before he started to climb it.

“Stiles, what the fuck are you doing?”

Honestly, it was kind of scary how comfortable he was getting with Derek’s tone of exasperation, almost like pulling on a cozy pair of socks. Scarier still was how it didn’t seem to deter him from his objective. 

It was by some grace of God that he didn’t tear his clothes or fall headfirst from the climb. Somehow, he managed to hop over to the other side. And be still his fickle, sarcastic heart, Derek actually followed him!

“Are you going to explain what we’re doing?” Derek whispered, even though there was no one around. It was rather cute.

“Keep moving, and you’ll find out.”

For the most part, Derek was a pretty fit guy. Despite the rough terrain and changes in elevation, he kept up nicely, and without any huffing or puffing too. Stiles, on the other hand, while still pretty fit himself, had a fine sheen of sweat on him by the time a familiar set of reinforced cables and steel signage came into view. He let out a shout of triumph, and gave his companion a toothy grin.

“Seriously, Stiles?” was all Derek said as he did a little scramble down the small incline. 

“What?” He gave Derek his most innocent, wide-eyed look. “We’re here. Why not? I think it’s fun to say that we are literally in Hollywood. Or, more specifically, I’m in the ‘O’ of Hollywood!” To make his point, he ran the short distance to the third ‘O’ of the Hollywood sign, and spread is arms in his best game show host pose. “Now get over here so we can take a picture!”

Derek shook his head. “You’re ridiculous,” came the familiar refrain, but Stile was sure he saw some fondness creep into the man’s severe expression. See, he knew he would grow on Derek… much like a fungus!

Despite all his supposed reservations, Derek did what Stiles asked, going so far as to shimmy farther down the slope so they could take selfies from a better angle in front of the sign. Appearances be damned, but Derek had a bad boy streak in him, Stiles discovered. After five minutes of goofing around the famous landmark though, Derek suddenly froze.

“What?” Stiles found himself tensing in response. He didn’t know what might’ve alarmed the other man, but he subconsciously trusted Derek’s instincts.

“There’s someone coming. I hear voices.”

“Shit.” In a flurry of uncoordinated limbs, Stiles grabbed his daypack from where he’d tossed it earlier, and started to scurry up the hill. Derek likely understood they were trespassing in a restricted area because Stiles heard him follow suit. And the guy, being the fitness god that he was, easily overtook Stiles on the uphill, so much so that he was waiting atop the fence when Stiles got there, hand extended down to pull him up.

Stiles grabbed on without question, leveraging Derek’s strength as they made good time over the obstacle. It wasn’t until they made it back to the main path, hearts still pounding and breathing still heavy, that Stiles realized how well they’d worked together, how well they complimented each other’s actions. If they ever did end up in any life-or-death situations, he now knew that Derek was definitely someone he could work with, and work well, at that.

“We should head back,” he suggested as he pulled the water from his bag, and took a big gulp. He offered some to his companion, who took it with a nod of gratitude. There was something innately intimate about sharing the bottle – or at least, it felt that way to Stiles – and he forced himself to focus elsewhere when his eyes became fixated on the up and down movement of the other man’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Thank heavens he was still winded from the run. If anyone asked, that madcap dash up the hill would be what he would blame his flushed face on, and not because he’d found the sight of Derek drinking water to be damned sexy.

“Yeah, let’s go then. And thanks.” Derek handed back the half-finished bottle, completely oblivious of the thoughts running through Stile’s dirty mind. 

They made their way back in companionable silence for once, their adrenalin levels slowly dropping during the hike back. Stiles was stuck in his head, calling himself every type of idiot for the situation he’d put himself in. He knew better than to get involved with someone like Derek. For one, the guy wasn’t exactly his type: older, and all dark and broody. Furthermore, Derek didn’t believe in romantic entanglements, and Stiles … well, he wanted to be all casual and mature and everything, but he’d learned enough about himself to know that for him, emotions always got involved. So really, that was just begging for trouble, and he wasn’t willing to deal with that. Which, ultimately, was why he had made the offer he had: being friends was safe, normal, and – and no one would get hurt in the end… right?

“You’re being abnormally quiet. It’s a bit scary.”

Stiles stumbled at the remark, and caught himself just in time to make it look like he was just kicking a rock. Yup, that was him … good, ol’ natural Stiles Stilinski…

“What? No, just thinking,” he hedged.

“About?”

His brain pinballed back and forth for a believable topic, for anything but the nature of their still-new relationship – or lack thereof. “Dinner,” he ended up saying. “Just wondering if you wanted to join me. That’s … if you don’t have other plans. You know, some other party or gala or function or anything.”

Derek didn’t respond right away, as if he was going through some mental appointment book. Then, “No, dinner sounds good. What were you thinking?”

Now that … that was something Stiles could answer, mainly because he’d planned this excursion for himself last week, before a certain Derek Hale complicated his life. He smiled widely. “Nothing fancy. How does homemade sandwiches sound?”

(***)

By the time they made it back to his jeep, the sun was beginning to set, which was exactly how Stiles had planned it. He told Derek to wait as he stowed away his bag, and grabbed the cooler and blanket he’d packed away in the back. With a quick tilt of his head, he urged Derek to follow as he walked the paths around the observatory and down a slight embankment. The daytime crowds had thinned out since the tourist attraction had closed, and that left just a scattered few to still wander the area, but down the small slope and behind a row of trees, there was no one. It was perfect.

“I found this spot when I came here my first time, back when I was a college freshman,” he explained as he put the cooler on the ground, and laid out the blanket. He plopped down, made himself all comfortable, and gestured for Derek to join him. “It’s nice and secluded, but it gives a great view of the city, especially at dusk when the sun begins to set, and all the lights turn on.”

He felt the blanket shift beside him as he reached for the cooler. In that instant, as he became acutely aware of how close Derek was to him, he realized his mistake: this could easily be a romantic, twilight picnic. That thought hadn’t even crossed his mind earlier. Since he’d originally planned to do this by himself, he’d only been focused on bringing enough food for two had Derek shown up today.

God, he was so stupid.

Still, there was nothing he could do about it now. He concentrated on pulling stuff out of the cooler to get his mind off the situation. “So, I’ve only got ham and cheese, or PBJ. Nothing gourmet, but they’re made by me, so that should count for something.”

He held two sandwiches up, and was about to dangle them enticingly to showcase his awesome sandwich-making skills when Derek just grabbed one without asking what kind it was. Well, joke was on him. Stiles had made two of each, so they could have both. He tossed a water bottle over – because that had been all he’d ever seen Derek drink – and grabbed the sugary soda he’d brought for himself.

They ate without any exchange of words, Stiles because his mouth was full, and Derek because he seemed content to watch the city succumbed to the cover of night, a blanket of distant lights blinking softly over the rolling hills.

“It’s nice up here, isn’t it?” Stiles finally asked as he paused in his inhaling of what he termed his ‘dessert’ sandwich, and took a sip of his drink. “Feels like everything just slows down when you’re this high up, and this far removed from everything.”

Derek made a sound of agreement and continued eating, his motions quick and methodical, no wasted effort or energy. Stiles unashamedly watched him eat for a few minutes, somehow feeling bolder as darkness fell around them. “Hey, can I ask you a question” he started, his voice sounding abnormally loud in their little isolated bubble. There was an intimacy in their location he hadn’t anticipated, as if the encroaching night had thrown a shroud over the two of them, and insulated them from the rest of the world.

The illumination from the city lights, weak as they were from where they now sat, still managed to subtly paint the planes and curves of Derek’s handsome face, and in that moment, entranced, Stiles couldn’t look away.

“Even if I said no, you’d ask anyways.”

Stiles re-focused. As much as he wanted to just sit and stare at his companion for hours on end, it wasn’t appropriate. “You know me so well,” he said with a look of chagrin. He scrunched up his napkin, and threw it back in the cooler to deal with later. “So, why did you need to hire me for that party on Thursday? It’s been bugging me the whole time.”

Derek continued to stare off into the distance, the shadows playing off a muscle along his jaw as he clenched it.

“You … you don’t have to answer if you don’t feel like it,” Stiles added. The last thing he wanted was to alienate the other man. They’d had a fun day together, and he didn’t want to ruin it by ending it on a bad note.

“Because my sister wanted it. Just like she always does.”

“Why?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask.

A corner of Derek’s mouth twitched up in a semblance of a humorless smile. “Because otherwise, I wouldn’t do it myself. Find a date, that is.”

The answer really wasn’t much of one. All it did was create more questions, but Stiles didn’t want to push his luck by asking them. 

Fortunately, Derek put him out of his misery by continuing. “As you’ve probably figured out, I’m not much of a people person. I don’t like dating, and the few hookups I’ve had … I couldn’t tell you their names. But investors and the public at large like companies with leaders who are charismatic, sociable. So, Laura’s taken it on herself to make sure we both come off that way. To preserve our parents’ legacy.”

Stiles swished his drink around, and listened briefly to the carbon fizz. “Sounds … lonely.”

Derek shrugged, brushing off the observation. “It is what it is. I haven’t had a relationship – a real one – since … since my parents died, and I’m okay with that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up unhappy memories. Mood killer.”

Derek waved off his apology. “It’s fine. It’s like you said that night at the party. It’s about remembering the good times, right?”

Stiles chuckled softly. “Hey, you were listening! I thought you were purposefully ignoring me.”

“Only every other sentence, but I caught that one.”

The retort was met with a good-natured punch on the shoulder, which only proved to Stiles that his companion really was made of all muscle. Seriously, not a single ounce of fat on the guy.

They took a few minutes to finish up the last bites of their sandwiches, and the remainder of their drinks. It wasn’t until Stiles was picking up their garbage that Derek spoke again.

“Hey.”

Stiles closed the cooler lid and looked up expectantly. “What’s up?”

Derek seemed to hesitate for a moment, a foreign sight indeed given the guy usually played his emotions close to his chest. “Uh, thanks. For today.”

“Don’t mention it,” Stiles responded automatically. But it felt like there was something else Derek wanted to say. He narrowed his eyes. God, he deserved a new category of the Nobel Prize if he had managed to decipher the non-verbal cues of Derek Hale. “Was there something else?” he prompted.

The other man hesitated again. And then, “You busy tomorrow?”

Okay, that was unexpected. But not unwelcomed though. “It’s my day off, so I’ve got some time. Why?”

“I need to make an appearance at an event – ”

Derek didn’t have to continue any further for Stiles to fill in the blanks. He was actually quite pleased that Derek was asking him. It felt a little like he was being asked out on a date! “And you need to show up with someone,” he supplied.

“Yeah.” Derek bent down, and helped fold up the blanket, not making any eye contact. “I figured, since you offered your ‘friend services’ for free, I might be able to, you know, ask for some help?”

Ouch. Okay, maybe not that pleased then. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be friend-zoned, never mind that he as the one to have done it in the first place. He was never really one of the bright ones when it came to dealing with his romantic life.

And so, swallowing the inexplicable lump of hurt feelings like the stupid sap he was, he nodded. “Uh, sure. Sure, I’ll be there. Just text me the time and place.”

(***)

That night, Stiles sat down at his computer and did what he should’ve done two nights ago. He did a deep-dive internet search on one Derek Hale. At the top, he found recent photos and articles, even a few that actually referenced him, but as he delved deeper and further into the past, he only encountered more mysteries. Lydia had been right. Every public appearance that Derek had made in the last eight years seemed to be with a different partner by his side, though Derek’s story about his sister had explained why that was. But before that, there wasn’t much. It wasn’t until he changed the parameters of his search and widened it to include the whole Hale family that he got a bit more.

He found some articles about an errant uncle and a younger sister in school. There were several business-related ones about a young Laura Hale taking over the family empire. He eventually stumbled onto an article about Derek’s parents, and their fatal car accident. It didn’t have many details, except for where and when it had happened: San Francisco over ten years ago. What did catch his attention though were some family photos embedded near the end of the article. Derek was in one, young and smiling and so open. Stiles almost touched his screen, wanting to re-capture some of that innocence for the Derek he knew today. But while seeing a baby-faced, carefree Derek was distracting, it was the beautiful blonde that he had his arm around in the picture that really had Stiles’ interest.

He dug deeper still, searching further back and into cached and archived sites that had long disappeared. Eventually, he found a name: Kate Argent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends!
> 
> Looks like I have a grace period to submit one more chapter to fill in another square of this year's Sterek bingo. So, this chapter covers the theme, 'Pride'. Speaking of, since it's June, happy Pride, everyone!
> 
> Also, small trigger warning for this chapter for anyone concerned about this: there is a brief conversation about hate groups near the end. Please read at your own discretion if this bothers you.
> 
> Other than that, happy reading!
> 
> Cheers,  
> K.

Stiles woke up on Sunday way earlier than should be legal for a person with the day off. He flip-flopped from his stomach onto his back and then onto his stomach again, countless times, as he debated whether to roll his ass out of bed or not. He was on another stomach phase of his restless tossing and turning, staring listlessly at the little beam of sunshine that had snuck through a crack in the curtains, when his phone buzzed. And no, he did not fall out of bed trying to grab it. Some people, like certain entrepreneurial, electric car and space visionaries, would call it a rapid, unscheduled – and spontaneous – exit.

Derek was supposed to text him the details of their date. And yes, he knew it wasn’t a _date_ date, but his silly brain had started to refer to it that way, okay? That, and his deep dive into Derek’s past was probably what had messed up his Sunday morning sleep-in, rattling away in his head like a pair of subconscious maracas. 

But the text wasn’t from Derek. It was a puppy pic from Scott, which tended to happen every so often because the guy was a huge puppy himself and couldn’t resist cute dog pictures, especially as he cared for them when they came into the clinic. Stiles leaned back against his bed with a sigh, trying to convince himself into believing the sinking sensation he felt wasn’t disappointment.

The doorbell rang minutes later, and saved him from his downward spiral of self-delusion. Normally, he’d be grumbling at being disturbed at this uncivilized hour, but whoever it was had just saved him from dwelling on the complicated relationship he was developing with a certain CEO, so he would reserve judgement.

He considered finding some actual clothes, but didn’t feel like putting in the extra effort, so he ambled to the door in his old, ratty Star Wars t-shirt and boxers. His early morning visitor should be grateful he even answered, never mind what he was wearing.

When he yanked the door open, however, he really wished he’d made better decisions in life. Erica stood on the other side, eyes overtly taking him in from top to bottom as her red lips tilted up in a sly slant. Never had the phrase ‘Gird your loins’ seemed more apropos than in that moment, and he had to consciously remind himself not to cover his vulnerable parts up like a blushing bride.

“Erica,” he croaked out in greeting, trying to sound natural, because, yes, he entertained hot blondes on his doorstep all the time. That was him! “What brings you to my neck of the woods so bright and early on this day of rest?”

Having looked her fill, Erica thrust a paper bag out toward him. Stiles was forced to grab it as she’d practically dropped it in his arms.

“Delivering this,” she said, and pushed her way into the condo. “Nice place,” she added, again in assessment mode.

“Thanks. It’s not mine. Just housesitting for a school friend while he’s doing an internship in Europe this summer.”

Erica turned back toward him, hand on her cocked hip as she gave him another long look. “Hmm, I can’t figure it out.”

Stiles clutched the paper bag closer to his chest, deciding that it, as good as anything, would serve as his makeshift shield against whatever judgement Erica was planning on slinging his way. He eyed her suspiciously. “Figure what out?”

“This is the third time Derek’s requested you. That’s more than anyone ever, and I’m trying to figure out why. Three times is not normal.”

‘ _Four, but who’s counting?_ ’ Stiles’ inner voice corrected. Wait, had Erica said ‘requested’? If he looked in the bag, would there be another benign, white envelope with a few grand in there? The very thought of it felt like a punch in the gut. If this wasn’t a one step forward and two steps back scenario, he didn’t know what was.

“So –“ He fidgeted, uncomfortable with Erica’s scrutiny. “He requested me, huh?”

Erica shrugged, and walked the few steps into the living room before claiming the loveseat with an authoritative sprawl. How she did that with her tight jeans, he didn’t know. “Not really, but felt that way to me.”

Stiles closed the front door and joined her, placing the bag on the coffee table and perching on the edge of the sofa across from her. He thought about being a good host and offering his guest a drink, but seeing as Erica was already making herself at home, she would probably help herself if she was thirsty. “I need a bit more than that.”

“Well, not if you don’t ask nicely.”

“Please.”

She smiled, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he should dive for cover, or beg for a treat at performing her requested trick. 

“I had another guy all booked for today, because that’s how Derek usually operates. So, imagine my surprise when he texted me last night and asked me to cancel. I told him he still had to go today because his sister would have his head if he didn’t, and he said he would, only he already had someone in mind. Took some psychological warfare, but I finally got a name out of him.”

She pinned him with a glare, and Stiles looked to his left and then, to his right, as if searching for somewhere else to deflect the attention.

“He told me he’d take care of it,” Erica continued. “But screw that. This is evidence that Derek Hale might be human, and I’m totally here for it. I convinced him to let me get you the info package, so here I am.”

She made no mention of any monetary transaction, and for some reason, Stiles felt lighter at that thought. Perhaps he and Derek hadn’t regressed, and he was simply going to be someone simply doing his ‘friend’ a favor.

“So, spill.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, which probably made him look like a doomed deer in the headlights. “Spill what?”

“Spill all the gory details. What’s going on between you two? You guys getting it on? Are you the Julia Roberts to his Richard Gere? C’mon, tell Auntie Erica.”

“Who … uh… what? Umm, no!” His mouth involuntarily gaped a few times at Erica’s string of questions. She was good. It wasn’t often that he was at a loss for words. “First off, no offense to Julia Roberts’ character and her heart of gold, but I am not a prostitute. And second, it is nothing like that. Nothing close.”

“Then what’s it like?” Erica sat up in her seat, and leaned forward, a wickedly aggressive gleam in her eyes.

Stiles reflexively scooted his ass back on the sofa. “Shit, has anyone ever told you you’re scary as fuck?”

A Cheshire grin appeared in response. “Aww, thanks. You’re pretty sweet yourself when you want to be. Now, answer the question.”

Stiles threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine. If you really want to know, we’ve agreed to be friends, and I’m doing him a favor. As a _friend_.”

“Really?”

He tried not to be insulted by the cynical tone. Did something about him scream insincere or liar or something? “Yes, really. Honest-to-God, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die really.”

Erica silently stared at him for a long, unnerving minute, and he, he did his best impression of a chameleon and tried to blend into the sofa. “Well, that’s no fun then,” she finally said. “I came all the way out here for that? You could’ve at least made up something juicy.”

“Uh, sorry I don’t live up to your expectations?” Stiles tried. From what he’d seen, it was probably safer for all involved if he stayed on Erica’s good side.

Erica narrowed her eyes, and let out an audible huff. “Okay, fine.” She pushed herself off the loveseat, and stared down at him like an intimidating Amazon. “But you call me the moment anything changes.” 

He nodded meekly. She had said that with such certainty that Stiles wondered if she could somehow see the future and was expecting something to happen.

“In the meantime, you’d better get ready. Derek is picking you up in an hour.”

Wha-?

“I’ll see myself out,” she stated as she made her way toward the door. “Have fun, lover boy!” With that, and a saucy wink, the Erica-whirlwind disappeared, leaving now an abnormally quiet home.

Stiles sat, needing a moment to recover from the force of nature he’d just encountered. So much for a simple text. And … oh, shit, he only had an hour! He still had to shower, change, eat breakfast, and go over whatever files Erica had dropped off. He unceremoniously stumbled off the couch with an undignified squawk, and started to get ready.

(***)

“Oh my God, I’m so excited!” Stiles was sure he literally vibrated with pent-up energy as they walked away from the car.

Derek’s eyes raked him from head to toe, the man’s expression somewhat bemused. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

To that, Stiles’ grin just widened. Earlier, he’d been bouncing in his chair the whole time, breakfast forgotten, as he’d skimmed through the information package that Erica had dropped off. After he’d finished, he’d dug into his closet for the rainbow t-shirt he didn’t wear often enough, and eagerly applied the temporary flag tattoo that had been in the package to his cheek. And if Derek was going to mock him today for it, then so be it! He was too full of excitement to let it bother him.

“Hey, I’m never in town when the Pride Festival happens! I’ve always wanted to go to one, and Beacon Hills isn’t a big enough town to sponsor its own. I’ve been so caught up with work this summer that I didn’t realize it was already June, okay? I think my over-enthusiasm deserves a little slack.”

Derek didn’t respond but if the rare non-scowl was any indication, he was likely indulging one of Stiles’ many quirks. And Stiles was definitely going to take full advantage. The files he’d read that morning had just noted some photo ops by the staging area before the parade started, something about Looking Glass being a leading sponsor, so that meant he would be free to enjoy the rest of the parade and festival once those obligations were filled.

“Oh, hey, wanna check out the rest of the event when we’re done?” It suddenly occurred to Stiles that he hadn’t informed his companion about his plans, but everything would definitely be more fun if there was someone else to enjoy it with, especially if that someone else was Derek.

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ve not been here before either.”

Wow, Stiles had honestly expected more hesitation, rather like the last couple of times he’d invited Derek somewhere. He preened internally at a job well done. This, ladies and gentlemen, was what he would call character growth!

They made their way around pockets of milling crowds, with Derek leading the way. The atmosphere was electric as a deep bass from multiple speakers littering the closed street played upbeat music for the happy, colorful people. It took an inordinate amount of self-control for Stiles not to join them. He was quite proud of himself – pun not intended – for walking like a proper human.

When they turned down a side street, he noticed the larger trucks and SUVs lined up along the sides, and that little voice inside his head sang, ‘ _Showtime!_ ’ Without prompting, he matched his pace to Derek’s, and interlocked their fingers together. They’d done this before, and just like those previous times, he felt grounded by the contact, reassured and confident. And Derek gave his hand a small squeeze of acknowledgement, just like before as well. The gesture did something funny to his insides though.

“Ah, Mr. Hale, right on time!” 

Once they’d passed a series of impressive floats and costumed participants – Stiles was pretty sure all the rainbow flags, balloons, and glitter in LA county were sitting here in West Hollywood right now – a gray-haired man with a pair of stylish, tortoiseshell glasses and an organizer’s badge waved them down. Before Stiles knew it, he was ushered along into a long line of very official introductions that he – despite his awesome memory – would, in no way, remember, just because of the sheer speed and volume of them. And it didn’t seem expected of him either, as they, from parade marshal to various organizations’ presidents, seemed to focus on Derek after Stiles had given his obligatory handshake. He smiled, of course, since they all seemed cordial enough, but he wondered if this was what the often-maligned trophy wives felt like. There were a few moments where he considered interjecting the conversation to say, ‘Hello, I’m here too. And look, I have a brain! A really smart one at that!’ But Derek, for some inexplicable reason, somehow sensed these moments, and would casually put an arm around his waist, and just like that, he would be distracted – by the weight, by the warmth, and – really, who was he kidding? – by the intimacy of it.

When the time came for the photographers to do their thing, Stiles saw the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. He was so ready for all this stuff to be over. If this was what Derek had to do all day – this making nice with entitled individuals – then it was no wonder he had a perpetual grumpy face. The original shininess of the whole event was getting more and more tarnished the longer Stiles was stuck here.

The press – news, and magazine, and social media sites – ushered the sponsors about, using the flamboyantly dressed parade participants and colorful float displays as backdrops. Stiles found himself standing flush against Derek several times, acutely aware of the other man’s firm body and heat, and … yup, the guy still smelled heavenly. That was just seriously unfair. A few photographers instructed them to just act natural, gunning for those casual shots, and that was how Stiles found himself throwing his arms around his ‘date’, goofy grin on his face as he let his silliness run rampant.

Not surprisingly, Derek couldn’t handle his off-the-cuff antics; Stiles felt it in the stiffness of the other man’s posture, and in the tension of his muscles. Someone behind the various cameras yelled at Derek to loosen up, and as if on cue, an arm wrapped around Stiles’ waist again, and soft lips pressed gently against his temple.

A shiver worked its way down Stiles’ spine at the contact, and for just a heartbeat, his breathing halted. Wide-eyed and stunned, he turned his head, and looked into that now-familiar ephemeral gaze. Before he knew it, Derek had closed the distance between them, connecting their lips. And this kiss … it started innocent enough, a light touch, a passing caress, but within milliseconds, every fiber of Stiles’ body sparked, rapid-fire bursts of addictive heat through all his nerves. Yeah, this was nice, like ‘Hallelujah, I’ve found salvation!’ nice, and all he wanted to do was bask in the sensation forever … which probably explained why his arms had snaked around Derek’s neck, and he was returning the kiss like a man possessed.

It was Derek who broke the contact, his usually piercing eyes clouded with … with something. They stared at each other then, Stiles with shock and awe, and Derek with what Stiles could only label as confusion and maybe a sliver of fear.

“Thanks, guys! That was perfect,” one of the photographers shouted, which effectively shattered the moment. 

Derek pulled away. “Thanks for playing along,” he said hoarsely, so low that only Stiles could hear.

He simply nodded, unsure how else he was supposed to react. And honest to God, those spoken words of gratitude hurt. Much more than he’d expected. Playing … they were only playing. He licked his lips, trying to commit the feel – the feel of Derek against them – to memory. They likely wouldn’t ‘play’ like that again. They couldn’t, he reminded himself. It wasn’t safe, at least, not for him.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Stiles looked up at Derek’s prompt. The guy had sure regained his composure pretty quickly. Then again, if Derek had been pretending, why wouldn’t he? This was someone who probably saw sex as a physical need like eating and bathing; feelings and romantic entanglements didn’t exist in his view of the world. And then, there was him, still partially dazed, and still half-aroused by that kiss.

“You said you wanted to check out the festival, didn’t you?”

Right. Yes, he did. “Uh, yeah,” he managed, afraid to say anymore in case his voice gave away his shakiness.

“Well, looks like we’re all done here. So, lead the way. I’m all yours.”

Oh, if only, his mind supplied.

He nodded slowly, and managed a semblance of an eager smile. “Okay, let’s go then,” he said, because … well, what else was he supposed to do? If Derek could brush off their earlier interaction, then so could he. He just needed longer to recover was all. Besides, this wasn’t the time to dwell on this crappy situation of his own making, he reminded himself. Today – today was about love, about acceptance, and … about pride.

(***)

Despite the unexpected start, Stiles actually enjoyed himself as the day progressed. There was just something special about the atmosphere of a parade, and add to that the exuberance, the energy, and the love that flowed freely during Pride, and Stiles was a lifelong fan. He had regularly wondered what the world would be like if this was the norm rather than the exception. World peace might be less of a running pageant joke, and more of a legitimate possibility.

Derek had started off as his usual closed-off self, but as the day wore on, Stiles was pretty sure the guy was subtly moving his hips to the beat of the music from passing speakers when he wasn’t looking. And he swore he caught a hint of a smile when a glamorous queen gave him a string of shiny beads.

By the end, the whole thing had put Stiles into a great mood. In fact, he was still buzzing after Derek had dropped him off at his condo, exhausted and happy, so much so that he texted Derek after he’d plopped heavily onto the couch.

‘ _Thx for today. So much fun._ ’

He’d followed his companion’s lead all day, and he’d made no mention of their kiss, regardless of how his traitorous brain regularly veered back toward it. It was probably better this way.

Surprisingly, Derek responded right away. ‘ _YW. Same._ ’

The man’s curt response put a smile on Stiles’ face. He quickly replied with a random series of emojis, ensuring he had the sunglasses one in there several times, because he was cool like that. Derek came back with a simple question mark, which made him laugh outright.

And that was how it started. For the next couple of days, Stiles would send the man random, meaningless messages – sometimes unexplained memes with no context, and sometimes belly-busting GIFs – and Derek would answer with either ones of his own, or, more often than not, the confused emoji. Stiles was surprised the man still managed to respond so promptly on Monday – seeing as he expected the boss of a company to … err, well, do bossy things – but respond Derek did, and for reasons he didn’t want to explore, the action caused more delight than he was willing to admit.

It wasn’t until Tuesday that Stiles sent a silly fox GIF during a lull at the bakery when Derek didn’t reply back. At first, he didn’t think much of it. The man might actually be working, after all. But a couple of hours passed, and when he hadn’t received anything by then, he sent another GIF, just a cute, wide-eyed puppy this time.

For the last two days, Derek had usually responded within an hour, and while the guy wasn’t under any obligation to message back, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder – however briefly – if he’d overstayed his welcome. Had he become a nuisance? Had he sent something offensive without realizing it? Was he being ghosted?

He knew he was overreacting. It wasn’t as if they had a real relationship to begin with. They were just friends, he reminded himself, and friends weren’t required to text back within a certain time frame. And so, an hour before the end of his shift, he sent one more message before he resolved himself to push it from his mind.

‘ _Hey, you okay?_ ’

He went about the rest of his day as usual, forcing himself to not think about the weight of the phone in his pocket. He finished his shift, made a trip to the store for some groceries, and was just unpacking his haul at home when he finally gave in. He checked.

Nothing.

Blah, he felt more disappointment than he had any business feeling. He was so weak sometimes.

He made himself focus on putting away his groceries and preparing dinner. It was Taco Tuesday. He loved Taco Tuesdays! No one, especially not some drop-dead gorgeous, grumpy-faced CEO would take that from him.

So decided, he washed up and started work on his dinner. He’d just finished browning the beef when he heard his phone buzz on the counter. Somehow, he blinked, and the thing was in his hands with Derek’s message window opened. Honestly, he didn’t know he could move that fast.

‘ _Sorry, rough day._ ’

Stiles stared at the text for a whole minute, and worried his lower lip. A mix of emotions dueled away inside him: he hadn’t been ghosted, yay! But, how was he supposed to respond? How much concern was appropriate given their unconventional friendship?

Before he could overthink it, he texted back: ‘ _Wanna come over and talk about it? I’ve got tacos._ ’

He let out a breath right after he sent it off. There, it was done. He couldn’t take it back now.

Within seconds, the response came.

‘ _Be there in 30._ ’

(***)

Stiles tried to keep everything casual as he set the table. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t had any guests over for dinner at the condo since he’d moved in, so this was a milestone. Derek being the first should rightfully make him a little anxious, right?

He was just pulling a couple of beers from the fridge when the doorbell rang. Making short work of his task, he put the bottles down on the kitchen island as he jogged to the door, and opened it with a ‘Hey.’

And no, he did not sound a bit breathless at the sight of Derek standing on the other side, suit jacket in hand, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, and the top two buttons of his collared shirt undone. Okay, he was such a big, fat liar. Yes, yes, he was breathless at the sight of the man.

“Hey,” Derek returned, and walked on in when Stiles stepped aside and waved him through. “Thanks for inviting me over.”

Stiles closed the door, unsuccessfully trying to swallow the dryness in his mouth. Gee, that beer would be perfect right about now. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

Derek stood for a moment, taking in the space.

“Before you say anything, it’s not mine.” Stiles needed to fill the space with something, so why not his own voice? “Just looking after it for a friend.”

Derek nodded. “That’s nice of you.”

“What can I say? I’m a giver.” He forced himself to relax, to forget that he’d been practically obsessing all day over not receiving a text from the man standing in front of him. “C’mon, dinner’s getting cold.”

The condo wasn’t big – just a cozy, open concept layout that made it feel more spacious than it actually was – but Stiles liked to think he did a half decent job of looking after things. He led Derek the short distance to the kitchen where he’d set up his assembly station on the island. In the spirit of keeping it casual, he’d planned on eating at said island, so he gestured toward it as he grabbed the beers and uncapped them. “Help yourself. It’s nothing fancy but who can say no to tacos, am I right?”

“No, looks good,” Derek noted, draping his jacket on the low back of the island chair. “Thanks for making it.”

Stiles passed the other man one of the beers, a lopsided half-smile on his face. “Well, a guy’s gotta eat. And I was making dinner anyways. I never miss out on Taco Tuesdays.”

The corners of Derek’s lips lifted at his comment, which seemed to reduce the dark cloud that was hovering over the man. Stiles wanted to know what had caused it, but didn’t feel it was his place to ask – at least, not yet – so he led by example, and dove right into the food instead. They ate in silence for a bit, and as they fought good-naturedly over the store-bought salsa, the mood began to lighten. Stiles was halfway through his third taco when he licked some sour cream off his fingers, and sat forward. “So, wanna talk about it? I hear it’s healthy to get things off your chest, and you’ve got the added bonus of me not knowing anyone you work with, so you can complain up a storm without having to worry about me spilling your innermost thoughts to anyone you talk about.”

Stiles knew it was a longshot that Derek would pour his heart out over beer and tacos, but everyone at least deserved the opportunity.

The man was quiet, thoughtfully chewing his food before he gave a slight shrug. “It’s nothing. Just some stuff with work.”

“Like what?”

“Something all new companies face, especially potentially controversial ones like Looking Glass.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a moment, waiting on more, because Derek’s answer lacked detail. “Something…? Like critics?” he suggested.

“You could say that. To a certain degree.” Derek took a quick sip of his beer, and seemingly had a profound interest with something on his plate. Then, “There were some pretty hateful posts on one of our social media accounts today, and a hurtful rant on a prominent blog about the company. We had to prep a last-minute P.R. management strategy.”

That did sound bad. “Hate groups?” Stiles asked.

Derek didn’t have to confirm anything for the answer to be obvious. His expression said it all. “Thing is, one hurtful comment washes away ten good ones in an instant. It’s pretty unfair.”

“It is. Sucks that there are such hateful, small-minded people out there.” Stiles took another swallow of his drink in commiseration. “But hey, you’ve found a way to handle it for now, right? It’s an uphill battle, and not one you can win overnight. It’s also a hard thing to do, facing hate without embracing it yourself, but the best you can do is try, one small step and one small mind at a time, right?”

He held up his bottle with a grin, hoping his words would take the edges off an otherwise trying day. 

Derek stared at him for a moment, and then, at his upheld drink. Slowly, he leaned forward, took his own bottle and clinked it with Stiles’. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks. I needed to hear that.” The little furrow around his brows disappeared, and his whole posture seemed a little less tense now.

And for some odd reason, something in Stiles’ chest loosened too, warmed by the sight. It should’ve been a good thing, something he should be proud of, this helping out a friend after a long day. 

Except … except, all he could hear was that tiny Stiles voice inside his head, admonishing him. “ _Oh, you idiot, you are in so much trouble…_ ”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear reader!
> 
> A little bit of a fluffier chapter as my personal schedule clears up a bit so I can tinker away at this! As well, my sincere thanks for the wonderful comments and kudos. They're very much appreciated.
> 
> Anyways, stay safe, and happy reading!
> 
> Cheers,  
> K.

There were times that Stiles thought he should’ve gone into acting. Because if there was ever an occasion where he deserved an Emmy and an Oscar, it was Taco Tuesday with Derek. Hell, maybe throw in a Tony in there as well, and if he could carry a tune worth a damn, he would’ve deserved the complete EGOT for playing the bestest, awesomest, most supportive friend ever! And all while hiding a half-erection from imagining Derek naked in the bedroom just steps away. Now _that_ was talent.

As it was, the dinner went well enough without him embarrassing himself more than he usually did – or if he had, Derek almost seemed immune to it now – with the night ending in comfortable goodbyes. Well, almost comfortable. There was that moment when Stiles was about to close the door, and Derek had stood frozen on the doorstep, looking like he wanted to say something. But all he ended up doing was bidding him one final good night, which was a bit anti-climatic, to be honest.

Oddly enough – or perhaps not, given his overactive brain – he couldn’t fall asleep that night. At first, he thought it might’ve been his lack of ‘Stiles time’ after an evening of inappropriate fantasies, but even after he jerked off to the images he’d been entertaining, and cleaned himself off, he still couldn’t sleep. With a resigned sigh, he ended up pulling his tablet out of the nightstand, and diving headlong into the bowels of the inter-web. 

Eventually, he found himself digging into Derek again, though this time, he started looking into the posts about Looking Glass they’d discussed earlier. It wasn’t difficult to find given his Jedi-level skills of data retrieval: a blog article and a now-deleted forum post spewing some pretty derogatory comments about Looking Glass’s mission, vision, and content. Stiles’ blood got a bit heat as he scanned through it, but he directed his energy towards finding the source. That’s what bothered him the most in these situations; it was sure easy to say all these horrible things when people had the cloak of anonymity, but without it … he would really like to see what they had then.

He wasn’t too shocked to find the trail lead to a couple of local groups with roots in a fairly conservative national organization. That seemed to be a common trend with these things. He did sigh defeatedly when he checked some press releases about the millions of dollars the same groups donated to community programs though. They obviously thought that investments into wholesome programs made up for any of the less-than-wholesome policies they supported. The entire thing had a bit too much hypocrisy for Stiles’ liking.

Derek didn’t mention his company’s troubles again when they resumed their little text exchange the next day, so Stiles didn’t either. They got back into their little rhythm of exchange, and kept their messages light and fluffy, which Stiles was perfectly okay with. It wasn’t until Thursday when he received a question from Derek about what he was up to on the weekend that things got serious again. He paused for a moment, and wondered why Derek was asking. More plans? Another fake date? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t regret declining because he wouldn’t miss Melissa’s birthday for the world.

‘ _Beacon Hills. Heading home for birthday party._ ’

Derek’s reply was immediate: ‘ _Yours?_ ’

Stiles chuckled at the eager response. ‘ _Family friend. Gotta figure out how to drive a fancy cake there in California heat, no AC._ ’

This time, Derek didn’t message back as quickly. In fact, he could see the other man start and restart his text multiple times before falling silent. Stiles didn’t have time to dwell on it though because a mom with two young kids entered the bakery then, and he was distracted with putting together an order for them. Fifteen minutes, a dozen pastries, and two child-sized face smudges on a glass counter later, Stiles felt his phone buzz again.

‘ _Want company?_ ’

Stiles blinked. Then, he rubbed his eyes, not really believing he’d read Derek’s text correctly. Nope, the words were still there. He’d read right: Mr. CEO himself was inviting himself along on a road trip to Beacon Hills. Hmm, this honestly made him wonder if the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus really did exist. He’d be lying though if he said a little part of him wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of spending the weekend with Derek.

Trying not to think too much of it, he texted back: ‘ _Sure. Leaving tomorrow @ 3._ ’

‘ _Will pick you up then._ ’

Derek’s offer was unexpected, but Stiles had no shame, and wasn’t above taking advantage of it. His jeep was like the child who had peaked in high school and was now just mooching off him, living rent free in his metaphorical basement. It was still his child nonetheless. He still loved it. But he was willing to bet his meager life’s savings that whatever Derek drove, it would have air conditioning. And Stiles was a simple boy with simple needs. AC was one of them. He responded with a thumbs-up emoji, and promptly went back to work, cleaning off the face-smudges from the glass counter. The minor panic attack he had when he realized he would have to explain Derek to his family and friends this weekend? Well, that came after his shift was over.

(***)

Friday came sooner than Stiles expected, and while he was excited to see his dad, Scott, Melissa, and Kira again, he wasn’t so much looking forward to spending all the hours alone in a car with Derek. Sure, he liked the guy, but ironically, that was exactly what he was scared of. He was afraid of liking the guy a little too much. So, it was with an unsettling mix of anticipation and dread that he waited for the man in question to arrive.

Derek arrived exactly at three, and it was just Stiles’ style that he fumbled his way out of the door, his weekend bag sliding down his shoulder as it got caught on the door frame. Luckily, the cooler with the cake he carried in his other hand remained unharmed. He paused briefly when he noticed that it was the same chauffeured town car they’d taken to the museum gala the previous week.

“Need help?” Derek asked as he exited the back, an amused expression on his face as he watched Stiles struggle with his bag.

“No, I’m good.” He didn’t say anything more as he dropped his one piece of luggage into the now-opened trunk and readily slipped into the back seat with the cake. In fact, he kept his mouth shut until the car was in motion, although he seriously wanted to ask if Derek was planning to be driven all the way up to NorCal. Sure, he was apprehensive about a road trip with just the two of them, but in all honesty, he could now admit that a tiny, masochistic part of him had been looking forward to it. But, with an unnamed driver in the picture, it just felt … weird.

Stiles finally spoke up when the car took an unexpected corner. “Umm… we missed the turn off for the 5,” he pointed out, watching the sign for the freeway pass by.

“We’re not taking the 5.”

“But…” Stiles looked over at his companion, confused, before glancing down at the cooler at his feet. Poor cake. “It’s the fastest route,” he finished weakly.

Derek laughed – like really laughed! – at his crestfallen body language, and that sound did warm, swirly things to Stiles’ insides. “Don’t worry. There’s a faster way.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, trying to convey all the skepticism he felt in his glare. He thought he knew the interstates pretty well, and doubted there was something faster than the obvious. “Okay, if you say so.”

There was something different about Derek today, lighter, freer, that, despite his concern for Melissa’s cake, drew Stiles’ attention. Perhaps it was the idea of escaping the city for the weekend, away from the trials and tribulations of work and daily life, or perhaps it was the casual way in which he was dressed, dark jeans and a Henley with a sports jacket, but Derek seemed like a different person. Stiles kept sneaking looks at his companion. If he didn’t know any better, the guy seemed a bit smug, like he had a secret he wasn’t going to share, but still wanted everyone to know he had one.

It wasn’t until Stiles saw the telltale sign that he realized what was happening. “Derek?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are we at the Santa Monica airport?” he asked, though he only realized how rhetorical the question sounded after it came out.

“Because LAX was too busy.”

“So, you booked us flights out of Santa Monica?”

“I wouldn’t call it booking if I already own the plane.”

Stiles knew he was gaping at the other man as if he’d declared an end to world hunger. He had not expected this. “My God, you _are_ Richard Gere,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“What? Nothing. You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Derek lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, you said you didn’t want your cake sitting in the car for hours on end. This way, we’ll get there in a fraction of the time.”

Despite the curve ball, Stiles was oddly charmed by the gesture. He’d mentioned a concern, and Derek had tried to solve it. He smiled brightly, his mood a far cry from what it had been earlier. “Thank you,” he said, and he swore he saw a bit of color on Derek’s cheeks before the guy turned to look out the window. Stiles didn’t care. “I’m going to hug you now.”

And he did. He leaned over and gave his travel mate a good old Stilinski hug. Derek tensed at the initial contact – Stiles felt it, even with the guy’s obscenely hard muscles – but within seconds, he relaxed and Stiles indulged in one last squeeze before regrettably pulling away.

For the record, flying privately was the only way to go. Stiles would never look at flying the same way again now that he knew how the other half lived: the dedicated hangar bay, the lack of crowds, the efficiency of personalized attendants, and best of all, the absence of security! Derek mentioned something about domestic flights being less strict, but Stiles wasn’t really listening. He was too busy revelling in not having to take off his shoes, and walk through a metal detector. Instead, he was guided up a set of stairs onto a jet by a really nice lady named Melanie while Derek’s driver transferred their bags. Melanie even offered to store his cake in a temperature regulated cubby onboard, so he relinquished his cargo before making himself comfortable on the soft, leather seats.

“So, like… I can sit wherever, right?” he asked as he eyed the seats beside him, situated against the cabin wall. Along with a row of the traditional paired seats on both sides of the aisle near the front of the plane, there was a section that surrounded a small table in a U-shaped fashion and provided the perfect space for lounging with fellow travellers.

“You’ll have to buckle into one for take-off and landing, but besides that, they’re all fair game,” Derek explained, his tone somewhat indulgent. The guy seemed fairly entertained by Stiles’ fish-out-of-water reaction.

Taking Derek’s answer as permission, he promptly sprawled himself atop the seats, sprawling more than he ever would have he been on a regular commercial flight. Except for takeoff and landing, when he buckled himself in, he took advantage of the space and privacy, chatting briefly with Derek and enjoying a beverage Melanie brought before he ended up dozing off. He actually didn’t know he was getting droopy-eyed – though, granted, he had worked the early shift that morning – until Derek shook him awake when the plane entered its descent.

All in all, it was a pleasant travel experience, and a part of Stiles soaked in every detail, committing everything to memory, because he wasn’t sure when he would get the chance to do it again. They landed a little over an hour after takeoff, and Stiles let himself be ushered from the comforts of the plane to a sleek Camaro that had been waiting for them upon arriving in Sacramento.

“Well, you sure know how to spoil a guy,” he said teasingly after securing the cake in the back, and sliding into the passenger’s side. He’d made a move to claim the driver’s seat earlier, but a hard glare from Derek had completely and thoroughly cowed him. He wasn’t going to risk missing out on a ride home in this car.

“Just wanted to help. I wasn’t even thinking about that,” Derek replied in a tone that effectively deflected anymore forthcoming gratitude. “I drive, you navigate?”

Once Stiles nodded his agreement, he watched Derek changes jackets, pulling out a leather one, slipping it on, and adjusting his aviators before getting in behind the wheel. He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming. “Going for a bit of bad boy chic, are we? Looks good on you,” he teased. And yeah, he was maybe – kind of, sort of – a little turned on by it. 

“Have to keep up a certain image in L.A.,” Derek returned, rather quietly. “Here, I don’t need to.”

There was a lot more to that statement to unpack, but Stiles knew that Derek valued his privacy more than the regular average Joe, so he refrained from pursuing it. Besides, who was he to critique another man’s choices, especially when said choices got him a little hot and bothered? “Sure,” he agreed, and changed the topic without missing a beat. “Hang a right out of here, and you should see the freeway entrance. Head north, and we’ll be there in about an hour.”

As they headed toward Beacon Hills, Stiles thought about texting his dad and giving him a heads up that he was coming home early, and with a guest too, but coward that he was, he decided that it was something that could wait. He hadn’t yet figured out how he was going to explain the presence of a strange man who’d flown him back on a private jet and one he sometimes fake dated.

On paper, it was technically a one-hour drive from Sacramento to Beacon Hills, as he’d noted, but he hadn’t accounted for the mix of the Camaro’s monster engine and Derek’s blatant disregard for speed limits. Who would’ve thought that someone who was driven around could be a veritable demon behind the wheel? Then again, he supposed that that was inconsequential when paying speeding tickets was a non-issue. As it was, they shaved a good twenty minutes off their trip, pulling up in front of his childhood home with Stiles, eyes wide, still clinging to the ‘oh-shit’ handle above his head and wondering if he’d dropped his stomach somewhere along the interstate.

“Nice house.”

“Huh?” Stiles looked over to the familiar outline of the cozy, two-storey house he’d grown up in. “Oh, yeah, thanks. It’s no Beverly Hills mansion, but it’s home,” he said fondly. His dad’s cruiser wasn’t in the driveway, but he didn’t expect it to be since the man wasn’t off-shift for another hour … which, really, just gave him more time to speculate about how he was going to explain his unexpected guest.

“C’mon, let’s get settled, and order some dinner,” he added with a dash of forced cheerfulness as he hopped out of the car. Derek followed silently. They transferred their weekend bags and the oh-so-precious cake without incident before Stiles phoned in an order to Sal’s Pizzeria. Old Sal, bless his heart, still recognized his voice and promised to send the usual, including a small, thin-crust vegetarian and a salad for his dad.

After Stiles ended the call, he stood awkwardly in the kitchen, looking at Derek and at a loss for what to do next. Had the house always felt so small, so cramped?

“So, uhh, pizza will be here in about forty minutes,” he relayed slowly, his brain desperately searching for stuff to say. The great Derek Hale, standing in his humble abode, was not something he’d prepared for.

Derek nodded. 

Self-conscious, Stiles scooted over to the fridge and rooted around for something to drink. He found a couple of bottle waters, and tossed one over to Derek. “Wanna watch something while we wait?”

Derek stared at his water for a moment, and for a brief, fleeting second, Stiles thought he caught a glimpse of uncertainty on the other man’s face. Then, he uncapped his drink and gestured for Stiles to lead the way. “Sounds good.”

And grateful to have a purpose, Stiles did just that. They situated themselves easily in the living room, each claiming opposite ends of the couch. Stiles took his time searching for something to watch, flicking through the channels first before switching over to Netflix and settling on the latest season of _Nailed It_. Baking shows were innocuous enough for all occasions, and he found it amusing to watch epic kitchen disasters, especially now that he worked in a bakery.

The thing was, travelling tended to tire him out, without fail, so somewhere between the host annoying a contestant, and a cake being left in the blast freezer for too long, he started to doze off. He wasn’t aware of it, of course, but before he knew it, a hand was shaking him, jarring him out of his nap. It was only then that he realized he had listed over toward Derek, and had ended up halfway sprawled on top of the guy. And shit, was that drool on his cheek?

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up.” He blinked blearily as he pushed himself off his warm, impromptu pillow, doing his best to subtly wipe the wetness from his face.

“Well, good, because the food just came,” said a new, but familiar, voice.

All remnants of sleep evaporated as Stiles looked over to the entryway. He smiled nervously at the figure with the boxes of food in hand. “Hey, Dad.”

He tried to act casual, because, well, it was completely normal for him to be cuddled up against someone of Derek’s caliber, but he knew he did an abysmal job. “Got home earlier than I planned,” he added lamely.

His dad raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. “You don’t say?” If anyone ever questioned where his dry humour came from, he would like to present ‘Exhibit A’. “Who’s your friend?”

Stiles glanced briefly at Derek – who, being all Mr. Manners, had already stood up – before turning back to his dad. “Uh, yeah, Dad, this is Derek. Derek, Dad. Derek had a free weekend, so I, uh, invited him to join us,” he hedged.

Back straight and chin high, Derek’s whole demeanor changed as he walked over to the Sheriff to shake his hand. It was then that Stiles realized he was catching a glimpse of the ‘Derek Hale, CEO’ façade. And it _was_ a façade. He couldn’t explain how he knew it, because Derek conducted himself accordingly, but the whole thing – the way he moved, the way he stood – it just wasn’t Derek, or the Derek that Stiles was getting to know.

“Derek Hale,” the man in question said seriously, hand extended.

The sheriff shifted the food onto one arm, and returned the gesture. “John Stilinski,” he returned as he shook.

There was a loaded moment between the two men, as if they were sizing each other up, silently assessing each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and Stiles felt compelled to disrupt it before it went too far.

“So, the food came!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, being all Captain Obvious as he hopped off the couch and took the boxes from his dad. Yes, he was deflecting, but it was the easiest path right now, and he liked easy, okay? He headed toward the kitchen, hoping the two men would follow. “I’m starving. Let’s eat before it all gets cold.”

He set the boxes on the table, and let out relieved breath when he saw his dad and Derek join him as he pulled out several plates. They quickly settled into their chairs, and started in on the food, quite civilly too, although Stiles did notice that his dad was still in his uniform, likely on purpose, but he’d give him that for now. He could understand how the sudden appearance of a stranger in one’s home could spur a bit of posturing. To balance off the unnecessary intimidation though, Stiles did make sure to point out to his dad that he was restricted to the salad and veggie pizza. The man grumbled and complained at his insistence, but still complied when Stiles bargained off one slice of the meat lovers as a reward.

After some stilted after-dinner small talk, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore, and make a show of yawning and declaring he was ready to turn in. His dad eyed him suspiciously, of course, but he let it slide.

“So, is Derek staying with you …?”

Stiles didn’t miss the parental undertone in his dad’s voice. The fact that he was almost twenty-two, and a full-grown adult never seemed to register with the man. His dad was great and all, but sometimes, Stiles felt like he was treated like the errant teenager who still made bad life decisions. The fact that he _did_ make bad life decisions was totally beside the point; it was the principle of the matter. “His stuff is in the guest room, Dad,” he explained as evenly as he could. He turned to Derek, hoping that this was it for his escape, at least for the night. “Come on, I’ll show you where we keep the extra towels.”

Derek nodded and followed silently. They got to the second-floor landing before he spoke. “You didn’t tell your dad I was coming, did you?”

Guilt flooded through Stiles at the accusation. Stupid conscience. “I didn’t get a chance…” he offered weakly.

“How do you not … Stiles…” Derek scrubbed his face with his hand, exasperation evident. “Never mind. Is it okay if I stay here? If not, I can make arrangements to –“ 

“No,” Stiles cut him off, instantly hating himself for making Derek feel even a little bit unwelcomed. “My dad’s cool. He was just surprised. And … and I want you here.” He didn’t realize how much truth was in those words until he’d said them aloud. He did want Derek there, and not because he owned an awesome private jet. He just … he just liked having the guy around.

Derek stared back at him for a few seconds, eyes assessing and mouth set in a neutral line. “Okay, fine, but if, at any point, I make things awkward, you let me know.”

Stiles nodded emphatically. “You got it. You know I always speak my mind. If you weren’t welcomed, you’d know.”

“Okay,” Derek said quietly. There was a guarded look to the man’s expression that struck Stiles right in the chest, but it disappeared soon enough under Stiles’ continued scrutiny. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night.”

The man turned, and made for the guest room Stiles had shown him earlier, but before he closed the door, Stiles stopped him. “Hey, Derek,” he called out. “Thanks. For getting me back here today. It was … thoughtful.”

Derek watched him for a moment, as if processing the gratitude, and then, with a small smile, he inclined his head in acknowledgement, and closed the door.

(***)

The next morning, Stiles woke up feeling much more prepared for battle. Not that he was planning on fighting with his dad or anything. They had a great relationship, and as far as parents went, he got one of the good ones. Still, to him, it felt like he was going into battle, okay?

He got up early – especially for a Saturday – dressed, washed up, and headed downstairs, fully expecting to find his dad up and about so they could have a quality father-son chat. Only, as he neared the kitchen, a pair of voices slowed his steps. Well, didn’t that put a monkey wrench in his partially laid plans? Apparently, he was the slacker in the house because both Derek and his dad were already up. They’d probably gotten up at the ass crack of dawn too – on the weekend! Oh, the humanity!

With a defeated sigh, he walked into the room to find the two men sitting at the kitchen table with cups of coffee and half-eaten breakfasts in front of them. What surprised him though was the mutual laugh they shared as he entered.

“Good morning,” he greeted slowly, a hint of apprehension tainting his voice.

Both the sitting men looked over at him in unison, and returned his greeting. Stiles froze briefly at the freakiness of the scene. “So … uh, I see you’ve started breakfast without me. I might not have come home for the summer, oh-father-of-mine, but I’m still your son, you know. You can’t just let me starve.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Thought I’d upgrade,” the sheriff threw back in a deadpan tone as he gestured toward Derek with his mug before taking a sip.

Ooh, coffee. Stiles’ eyes fixated on the movement before he went to pour a cup of his own. That sweet elixir of life needed to get in his stomach, like, fifteen minutes ago, he thought as he attacked the coffeepot. Aloud, he bemoaned, “Oh, the fickleness of old age. I gave you my best years …”

“If those were your best years, I’m glad I’m not around for your worst.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, and threw his parent a sidelong glance before raiding the pan on the stove. “Is this an omelette? With egg whites?” he asked when he saw what was still left. “Dad, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. Derek made it. He even threw some green stuff in there.”

“Spinach and tomatoes,” Derek clarified. “Help yourself.”

The new tidbit of information sparked something warm inside Stiles. Derek may have been a man of few words, and probably as expressive as a brick wall, but what he lacked for in overt communication, he made up for in thoughtful gestures. And that endeared the guy to him even more. Stiles kept the fuzzy sentiment to himself though as he portioned out a helping, and joined the two at the table.

“So, what are your plans for today?” the sheriff asked as Stiles busily dug into the food, which, by the way, tasted amazing! 

He gave the eggs and then Derek an appreciative look as he chewed and swallowed. “I was thinking of showing Derek around, probably meet up with Scott and Kira for lunch.”

Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles hadn’t really shared his plans with the man so he was going to take the silence as agreement. A small part of him was eager to show Derek his hometown, or what little of it there was to show. Beacon Hills was no L.A. county, but it was charming, and it was cozy, and it was home.

“Well, don’t eat too much,” his dad warned. “I’m just running into the station to finish up some paperwork, but when I get home, I’m firing up the barbeque. Melissa should be over after her shift ends, probably late afternoon.”

Stiles knew his dad had been looking forward to this day for a while; they had agreed several weeks ago, after some hard negotiating on the sheriff’s part, that red meat would be allowed for this one occasion. He wouldn’t heckle him for it, but that didn’t mean Stiles couldn’t stare at his dad judgmentally! “I can do a grocery run this afternoon then,” he supplied, as he continued inhaling his breakfast, which, again, was delicious. If he wasn’t avoiding the Gordian Knot that was his feelings for Derek, he would outright ask the guy to marry him based on his culinary skills alone.

“Sounds good, kiddo.” His dad stood, and gave him a look so full of parental love that Stiles couldn’t help but smile goofily, just like when he was five. “I’ll see you later this afternoon, and we can have some quality father-son time.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” He watched his dad rise and put his now-empty dishes away. Their talk was inevitable, and he still wasn’t keen on it, but at least with Derek and his dad bonding at bit, it didn’t seem as bad. “See you this afternoon then.”

The sheriff said his goodbyes, and left him and Derek to their own devices. Stiles finished off his food in silence, trying to ignore the watchful eye of his companion as the man sipped away at his coffee. Only after he heard his dad’s car pull out of the driveway did he speak. “When did you become the Dad Whisperer? What did you two talk about? Dad seemed so normal today.”

Derek continued to drink his coffee, doing his whole enigmatic schtick, much to Stiles’ consternation. Then, he noticed the slight uptick in the corner of the man’s mouth, and he realized Derek was playing with him. Bastard.

“You were right. Your dad’s a pretty cool guy,” Derek finally said, a tiny, teasing smirk in place.

“Ha, told you so! The man didn’t raise no liar. Now, what did you say? He seemed so mellow.”

It occurred to him that Derek could’ve easily relayed everything he’d done – from being a fake date to signing NDAs to accepting money for his services – and truth be told, he felt a bit of panic beginning to build up somewhere deep in his chest at the thought. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but it just sounded so … questionable to the outside observer. “I, um, signed an NDA, you know. I hate lying to my dad, but I’m not allowed to say anything about …” He trailed off, just plain uncomfortable with how things had started.

Derek put his mug down on the table with a muted clunk, his posture straightening and concern changing the set of his features. “Stiles?”

“I mean, it’s okay if you, y’know, told him and all that. About everything. It saves me from having to, I guess. But I – I just didn’t want him to see his kid as …”

Derek reached across the table, a hand settling solidly against the side of his jaw and neck. “Stiles, breathe.”

He hadn’t realized he was gasping for air until he felt Derek’s touch, strong and reassuring, against his skin. He closed his eyes, and leaned into it, concentrating on the feel of the other man’s hand, the warmth and the stability of it. He only opened his eyes again when he felt more in control of himself. “Sorry,” he muttered, a little embarrassed.

“Don’t be.” That warmth disappeared, and Stiles almost whimpered at its absence. “I only told your dad that we’re friends, and that you’ve helped me out at some work functions. Whatever assumptions he’s made from there, I don’t know, but he seemed accepting enough of it.”

Stiles nodded at the explanation. That didn’t sound too bad, and really, not too far from the truth. “Okay,” he said, hesitantly at first. Then, more confidently, “Okay, that’s fine. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The lines around Derek’s eyes softened, as if the man understood his stupid reservations and insecurities, and Stiles was grateful for the shift. He smiled reassuringly, his mood lightening the more he did so, and he could see Derek beginning to mirror him.

“So about today, sorry I didn’t ask, but you up for what I planned out? You’ll have the privilege of experiencing the uncensored Stiles Stilinski tour of Beacon Hills.”

Derek eased back in his chair with an amused chuckle. “Sure, I’d be honored.”

And that was that. With a singular focus, he quickly finished his breakfast and coffee, and prepared to unleash himself – and his guest – on his quiet hometown.

(***)

So … the grand Stiles Stilinski tour of Beacon Hills wasn’t really all that grand. He guided Derek – who still refused to let him drive the Camaro – down the main street, pointed out some of the haunts he used to hit up when he was a teen, and showed him the high school where he’d spent his formative years. They eventually ended up in the Preserve. The natural, wooded area with its numerous hiking and running paths was arguably the main attraction of the town. He suggested they take a walk along one of his favorite running routes, and met with no objection as Derek pulled into one of the gravel lots by a trailhead.

They started out in companionable silence, though, with Stiles being who he was, he didn’t keep quiet for long. He looked over at the other man, and briefly marvelled at how relaxed Derek seemed against the sun-mottled backdrop. He was so far removed from the stiff and guarded man he’d met just over a week ago, and Stiles preferred him this way. 

“So, I used to play lacrosse back in high school. Running these trails was one of the few things that got me off the bench every so often. My accuracy was crap, but I was always good for running circles around the other team.”

“Well, that explains it.” Derek stepped over a fallen branch and waited for him to catch up.

“Explain what?”

“Why you go off for random hikes alone.”

Stiles grinned at the observation. “I guess. I didn’t even think about that. I was just always the goofy, spastic kid in high school, so I did what I could to keep myself on par with everyone else. Didn’t realize that I’d actually begun to like it, and have it become part of who I am.”

“Guess it turned out alright,” Derek mumbled begrudgingly, although Stiles saw the teasing humor in the sidelong glance and the half-smile on the man’s face. 

He followed with a smirk of his own. “Jury’s still out on that.”

They spent about another hour in the Preserve, walking the trails and chatting about nothing in particular, and Stiles had to admit that the fresh air and familiar surroundings felt good. But he’d made plans to meet up with Scott and Kira for lunch, so he steered them down the path back toward the car, and directed Derek to the local diner that had basically fueled his growing teenage body with grease for the better part of a decade. When they walked in, Stiles saw Scott and Kira almost immediately in their favourite corner booth, Scott waving emphatically while Kira gave them a welcoming smile.

“Hey, guys” he greeted warmly as he slid onto the vinyl seat in one practiced motion. Derek did so more haltingly, as if unsure if he’d be welcomed, which only made Stiles more determined to pre-empted any awkwardness. “This is my … friend, Derek. I invited him to join us this weekend since he had it free. Hope that’s alright. Derek, my alleged BFF, Scott and his better half, Kira.” 

He knew Scott and he knew Kira; they were awesome friends, and would take their cue from him if he said Derek was good, but that didn’t stop the meaningful ‘You owe me an explanation’ look that Scott discreetly threw his way. But Kira, ever sweet Kira, didn’t miss a stride and smoothed the introduction out by simply chatting away with Derek as if they’d known each other for years, and quickly, their lunch fell into the comfortable routine that Stiles loved and cherished. He really did luck out in the friend department.

The meal was fun, albeit light as mutually agreed upon, given their gathering later and that Stiles’ dad was renowned for cooking up a mean barbeque. Regrettably, Stiles didn’t fully get to catch up with Scott like he’d originally intended, but with Derek there, he didn’t think it was fair to alienate the guy with topics he had no clue about. See, he could be quite considerate and well-mannered if he put the effort in!

When they finished, they made plans to regroup back at the Stilinski house after a supply run, with Stiles and Derek picking up the remaining groceries, and Scott and Kira rounding up everything else, including the birthday guest herself. Overall, the day went really well, and it wasn’t until they were back at the house, with his dad at the grill and Scott ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ over the cake after he’d caught a glimpse, that Stiles realized how easily Derek has slotted into everything – his town, his family, and his life. He wasn’t as intense and closed off as when they’d first met, and Stiles like to think that getting away for the weekend had helped. He was still a man of few words, but he seemed more relaxed here, and with that, he revealed a dry sense of humor that Stiles hadn’t gotten to appreciate until now. As if Stiles needed additional excuses to find the man even more attractive.

“Oh, hey, kiddo, almost forgot, some mail came for you a few weeks back,” his dad said as he entered the kitchen to dump some empty dishes into the sink. “It’s on the side table by the front door.”

Stiles finished slicing the last of the cucumber for the salad and nodded. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll take a look later.” 

He had an idea what it was and could probably guess what was in them. Several months ago, he’d applied for a load of internships around the country, and originally thinking he’d be in Beacon Hills for the summer, he’d directed the return address here. He’d gotten electronic copies already, but he was pretty sure that’s what they were since the hard copies made it all the more official.

“So, Derek…” His dad continued lightly, as if that tone could fool anyone, least of all, his own son who’d practically perfected it.

Stiles started mixing the ingredients together for his special salad dressing. “What about Derek?” he asked innocently.

“You know, this is the first time you brought someone home. I can’t not ask.”

He paused briefly before pouring in the olive oil. “I know, but I’m … we’re … we just met. And we’re friends.”

The sheriff raised an inquiring eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “You sure about that. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

He shrugged dismissively. “It’s complicated.” God, that was so cliché, but it was the truth. Plus, whatever his dad was seeing was probably wishful thinking and confirmation bias. The number of times he’d jumped from one crush to another growing up, the man would be happy if he got to go on just one date, regardless of said date’s background, gender, or probably even species for that matter.

“It always is, son. It always is.”

His dad gave his shoulder a squeeze, and Stiles smiled as he watched the older Stilinski head back out to check on the cooking meat. He quickly finished up with his salad, and followed his dad, big bowl in hand, rejoining the small group he’d come to call family out back. His eyes automatically found Derek, sitting beer in hand at the patio table with the others, thoughtful expression on his face as he listened to Melissa recount an unfortunate Lego incident she’d had with a young patient that day. He placed the salad on the already crowded table, and when he sat down beside Derek, he caught the acknowledging nod and the slight uptick of the man’s lips. And nope, that didn’t do funny things to his insides. Not at all.

He picked up the conversation easily, and as they waited for the food to finish cooking, he caught up on everyone’s lives. When his dad finally brought a plate full of deliciously sauced and heavenly smelling food to the table, they all dug in with gusto. As Stiles ate, he had a fleeting moment where he imagined that this was his life – good food and good conversation with good friends and a partner by his side – and he silently admitted that that would be pretty damn close to his definition of happiness.

Their intimate little party went fairly late into the night, and Stiles found himself laughing and smiling drowsily for most of it, belly full of food and brain pleasantly buzzed from drink. And as the night wound down, and Melissa, Scott, and Kira were heading out, Derek started cleaning.

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles said, as he moved to help. “You’re a guest.”

Derek continued to gather the empty dishes. “You and your dad did all the cooking. It’s only fair.”

“Okay, fine. But I’m helping.” And so it was settled. While his dad saw their others out and locked up, Stiles cleaned with Derek in an easy silence. They worked well together, just like that time they’d scaled the fence up in the Hollywood hills, and they were done much quicker than Stiles had expected. 

It wasn’t until they’d agreed to turn in for the night that Stiles remembered his mail. Saying good night to Derek, he made his way to the front door and found a small stack of letters sitting on the corner of the side table, just as his dad had said. He shuffled through them, noting the corporate logos and white, no-nonsense letter stock.

‘ _We regret to inform you …_ ’

‘ _Unfortunately, at this time …_ ’

‘ _Please consider us again in the future…_ ’

They were all worded pleasantly enough, but it all boiled down to one thing: rejection. He’d known it was coming, yet it still stung nonetheless. Anyone saying ‘no’ to what he had to offer, even though it was in a completely professional sense and not personal, always hurt a little. Feeling a bit down now, he heaved a tired breath, and went back out onto their small patio. Tired as he was, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep just yet, not when he was feeling all morose and sorry for himself. His future still sat ominously in front of him, fuzzy, unclear, and twisty, and he had no idea how to navigate his way through.

He plopped heavily onto the old, weathered loveseat of their patio set, leaned back, and stared up at the dark sky. Even though Beacon Hills was a small town, the light pollution was enough that the stars were difficult to make out, despite the clear night, just tiny, pinpricks of light blinking far off in the distance. It was still pretty though.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there brooding, the cool, humid air dampening up his skin, but he eventually heard some shuffling by the door some time later, and when he looked over, he saw Derek moving to sit down beside him. He’d thrown on a soft Henley, and a cozy looking pair of pants, which only added to Stiles’ own feelings of inadequacies because, damn it, the guy looked good in just about anything!

“You okay?” the man asked as he got comfortable on the worn-out cushion. Stiles shifted a bit to make space but even so, with the proximity, he could feel the heat of his companion’s body, a noticeable contrast to the clamminess of his own. It would be so easy just to lean over …

“Yeah, just some things on my mind,” he answered instead. “Why are you up?”

Derek shrugged, and Stiles felt the movement against the chair. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Thinking about important CEO things that make the world go round?” he said teasingly.

Derek made a sound that was half-dismissive and half-laugh. “Hardly.” He leaned back as well, and mirrored Stiles’ pose by staring up at the sky. “Didn’t hear you go to bed,” he added quietly. “What’s on your mind? Important CEO things?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, threw the man a sidelong look, and did the most mature thing he could think of as a response. He flicked him on the arm… that ridiculously firm and muscled arm. “Okay, now you’re just mocking me. I think I liked it when you didn’t have a sense of humor.” He huffed tiredly, and shifted a bit on the seat. “No, I got some rejection letters for a few internships I applied for. I know it’s part of the whole growing up process but still sucks.”

“Sorry.”

Now, it was Stiles’ turn to shrug. “It’s okay. Not your fault. I just … when I think about the next phase of my life, it’s just a big, black hole, and it’s scary, y’know? It’s silly, I know. Everyone goes through it, and it doesn’t bother them, but I get all – all jittery and anxious when I – ”

“Don’t,” Derek cut him off, his voice a pleasant rumble in the quiet night. “Don’t downplay it. If it bothers you, then it’s important. You care for people, Stiles. Me, your dad. I’ve seen how you watch what he eats without even thinking about it. You should care about yourself as well.”

“I know. I do. I just feel like wallowing in self-misery.”

Derek didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted a little on the seat too, and if Stiles didn’t know any better, he would say they were sliding closer to each other. Not that he was complaining, but he was acutely aware of their position, and it took a lot of self-control not to just slide over all the way.

“You could try Hale Industries,” Derek finally said. “I can’t guarantee anything since I’ve got to remain impartial, and I’m not sure what your specialty is, but we’ve got subsidiaries and field offices that take interns from all disciplines.”

Stiles gave the suggestion some thought. He hadn’t applied there, mainly because he hadn’t heard of them until he’d met Derek, but it couldn’t hurt, he supposed. The worse that could happen was another rejection letter. “Yeah, maybe I will,” he stated with a smile, feeling a little bit better. “Thanks.”

Derek nodded his acknowledgement. And really … screw it. Stiles slid the short distance over and rested the side of his head on the other man’s shoulder. Derek didn’t move or push him away, so he just stayed there, enjoying the solid warmth against his cheek, and he mentioned that the shirt had looked super soft, right? Well, now he had full confirmation it was. He knew he was treading on dangerous territory, but he could get used to this. He snuggled closer, and blinked sleepily, the yard slowly losing focus as his eyelids felt heavier. Yes, indeed, he could get very … very used to this.


End file.
